I glance up. “Why not?”
“Because the kid’s smart. And Kaz has a brainanda heart, which puts him in rare company around here.”
I stare at the floor. My voice is barely audible. “If he finds out?—”
“What? That you kept his kid from him for five years?”
I flinch.
He doesn’t let up.
“You think you’re protecting him by keeping this secret?”
“I’m protectingDar,” I snap.
Verzius leans forward, voice sharper now. “You’re protectingyourself. Don’t twist it.”
I glare at him. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”
“I don’t have to.” His tone softens, just slightly. “But I know what it looks like when someone’s lying to survive. And I know what it looks like when someone’s just… scared.”
I want to hit him.
I want to cry.
I do neither.
Instead, I push up from the console, arms tight across my chest.
“He’s going to figure it out.”
“Yeah,” Verzius says. “He is.”
And then he leaves.
Just like that.
I lie to Dar the next morning.
Again.
He asks where Kaz is. If he’s coming back. If he can play the drone game again. His little hands mimic the flight controls as he talks, eyes wide, hopeful.
I tell him Kaz is busy.
Again.
I tell him Kaz is probably training or fixing a ship or saving the base from some invisible emergency that only adults understand.
Dar nods, but it chips something off me every time.
Because Kazisn’tbusy.
He’shere.
He keeps showing up.
Little things, at first. Offering help with diagnostics. Rewriting a few nav protocols. Running sim drills with the younger recruits.
