“Preparing to build a bed.”
“For Mikoz?”
“Yes.”
She moved closer, examining the materials he’d selected as he cleared a space to assemble the bed and began laying out the pieces. Her fingers traced the smooth metal of a support bar, testing its weight and balance with the careful attention of someone who understood basic engineering principles.
“This won’t work,” she said, pointing to one of the joints. “The angle is wrong. It’ll put too much stress on the connection point.”
He looked at the piece she’d indicated, then at her. “You know engineering?”
“My dad taught me basic construction. He used to restore old furniture as a hobby.” Something sad flickered across her face. “He said it was important to know how things fit together.”
“He was correct.” He adjusted the piece she’d pointed out, modifying the angle. “Better?”
She studied it critically, then nodded. “Yeah. But you’ll need reinforcement here and here.” She indicated two other joints. “Otherwise it might work loose over time.”
Observant and practical, with an eye for structural integrity that belied her age. Her father had taught her well.
“Would you like to help?” he asked.
Surprise flashed across her face, followed quickly by suspicion. “Why?”
“Because you clearly understand the principles involved. And because Mikoz is your family. You should have a hand in building his sleeping space.”
She chewed her lip, considering. He waited, letting her make the choice without pressure. Trust couldn’t be forced, only offered and accepted.
“Okay,” she finally said. “But if you mess it up, I’m telling Corinne.”
“Understood.”
He finished spreading out the components and began assembling the frame, letting Anya guide the process when her knowledge surpassed his. She had clever hands and a quick mind, understanding the construction intuitively in a way thatsuggested natural aptitude rather than mere memorization of her father’s lessons.
Corinne watched them from the main room, a data pad in her lap but her attention clearly on them rather than whatever she was pretending to read. Her expression was soft and hopeful, like she was watching something precious and fragile take shape.
“You would have made a good engineer,” he told Anya as she helped him secure a joint.
“Dad wanted me to go to MIT.” She didn’t look up from her work. “That’s a famous engineering school on Earth. He said I was smart enough to get in if I kept my grades up.”
“You did not want to go?”
“I didn’t know what I wanted.” She tightened the connection with more force than necessary. “I was twelve. I just wanted to read books and play games and not think about college applications.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” he said.
“Everyone’s sorry. Sorry doesn’t bring him back.” She fitted the piece into place with unnecessary force. “Sorry doesn’t explain why he left me with a stepmother I barely knew. Sorry doesn’t fix anything.”
He understood that anger. He’d felt it himself after Kessa and Lira died, raging at a universe that would take his family and leave him alive to grieve. The anger had eventually faded to numbness, but he remembered the sharp edges of it, the way it cut deeper than the grief itself.
“Did you resent her?” he asked softly. “Corinne?”
Anya’s hands stilled. She stared at the bed frame for a long moment before answering.
“Yeah. I resented her.” Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Dad married her when I was ten. I didn’t understand why he needed a wife when he had me. We were fine, just the two of us. We had our routines, our inside jokes, our weekend projects. Then suddenly there’s this stranger living in our house, trying to cook us dinner and asking about my homework like she had any right to care.”
“But your feelings changed.”
“Slowly. She didn’t push, didn’t try to be my mom or replace anyone. Just… existed in our lives. Made sure I had clean clothes and decent meals. Helped with homework when I asked. Gave me space when I needed it.” Anya’s expression softened slightly. “After Dad died, she could have dumped me in foster care. She didn’t have to keep me. We weren’t related by blood, and I was a brat to her most of the time. But she fought to keep custody, even when Dad’s lawyer suggested it might be easier to let the state handle it.”
