“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” she asked quietly. “Building a life here.”
“Does that trouble you?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” She sighed. “I miss Earth sometimes. I miss coffee and bookstores and stupid things like automatic doors. But I wouldn’t trade this for any of that.”
“You would trade it to return Anya to her world.”
“I don’t know that either.” She looked up at him. “But she’s adapting better than I expected. She’s making friends, she’s learning new skills, and she seems genuinely happy. Maybe this is enough for her too.”
Selik considered his stepdaughter—because that’s what Anya had become, whether they’d formalized it or not. She called him by his name rather than any paternal title, but she sought his approval and trusted his judgment. She came to him with questions about engineering and navigation, asked him to check her self-defense forms, and looked to him for guidance.
My daughter, he thought, and the grief of his loss mixed with the joy of this unexpected second chance.
“She is strong,” he said. “Like her mother.”
“Stepmother. And I’m not that strong. I’m faking it most of the time.”
“Courage is not the absence of fear. It is acting despite the fear.” He kissed the top of her head. “You are the strongest person I know, s’kara.”
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the waves and the distant sounds of the colony settling for the night. Somewhere nearby, someone played music—a stringed instrument that created haunting melodies.
“Tomorrow we will take the boat out,” Selik said. “I want to show all of you what I do, and Mikoz needs to become comfortable with water.”
“He’s not even a year old.”
“Old enough to begin learning. Cire children are taught to swim almost as soon as they can walk.”
“He’s going to drown.”
“He will not. I will be with him the entire time.” He felt her tension and gentled his voice. “Trust me, Corinne. I would never allow harm to come to our son.”
Our son. The words still felt new, still carried weight and wonder.
“I know,” she said softly. “I do trust you. It’s just… everything feels so fragile. Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“What shoe?”
“It’s an expression. It means waiting for something bad to happen.” She turned in his arms to face him. “We’ve been here three months and nothing’s gone wrong. No Council agents, no bounty hunters, no disasters. It’s been almost peaceful, and that scares me.”
He understood her fear. He felt it too—the constant vigilance, the awareness that their happiness existed on borrowed time. But dwelling on potential disasters was pointless.
“We cannot control what comes,” he said. “We can only prepare and adapt. And we have done both.”
“Very philosophical for a fisherman.”
“My grandfather was fond of sayings. ‘The tide comes regardless of worry, so save your energy for rowing.’”
She laughed, the sound warming him more than the afternoon sun ever could. “That’s actually pretty good advice.”
“He was a wise male.”
They stayed on the deck until the chill drove them inside. He checked the locks—a habit he couldn’t break—and made certain the security system he’d installed was armed. Then he joined Corinne in their bedroom and helped her out of her clothing with hands that knew every curve and hollow of her body.
She kissed him with heat and need, and he responded with everything he had. This—being with her, inside her, claiming her as she claimed him—was as close to a spiritual experience as he’d ever come. The bond between them felt more real than anything else in his life.
Mine,his instincts insisted as they moved together.My mate, my heart, my future.
Afterward, she dozed against his chest while he stayed awake, watching the moonlight paint patterns on the ceiling. He should sleep. Morning would come early and they had a full day planned.
