“Thereissomething in there,” he says, taking me by surprise. I panic a little; I wasn't ready for this. “But…it's something I'm trying to figure out, and I can't tell you about it right now. Do you understand that?”
Solvi's eyes dart toward the closet, brow furrowing. “I think so.”
Holy shit.
Comin’ in hot with the gentle parenting.
“I appreciate you giving me the space to deal with this,” he says. “And I promise I'll tell you eventually.”
“When?”
“I'm not sure yet.” He pauses. “Can you give me a week for an update?”
She considers him for a moment, clearly skeptical, clearly curious—clearly her father’s daughter, with that same species of thoughtful pause, the same laser-focus in her gaze.
Finally, she nods. “Okay. But it better not be a surprise party. I hate those.”
Kaelion chuckles. “Me too.”
“And if it’s something weird,” she adds, narrowing her eyes, “like an experiment? I want in.”
That…might be a problem later.
But Kaelion just smiles and says, “Duly noted.”
She looks like she’s about to ask another question—probably a very good one—but the growl of her stomach derails the moment. She scowls. “Can I make breakfast?”
“You can helpmemake breakfast,” he corrects gently, rising to his feet. “But let me get dressed first, all right?”
She sighs. “Fine.”
And then, as Kaelion starts ushering her out of the room, she glances over her shoulder one last time toward the closet.
“Whatever it is,” she says, “you don’t have to keep it secret. I’m not a kid.”
And then she's gone.
The door clicks shut behind her, the hallway fills with retreating footsteps, and the instant they're out of range, I collapse back against the wall of the closet and whisper, “Holy shit.”
My heart is hammering. I’m sweating again.
That child is terrifying.
The door creaks open a few seconds later, and Kaelion appears, looking sheepish—and beautiful, and unfairly rumpled.
I narrow my eyes at him. “So. Something you have to figure out, huh?”
He holds out a hand. “I won't lie to my daughter.”
I take it. Let him pull me out of the closet like some shame-drenched walk of contrition, even though I know that’s not what this is anymore.
Still. My legs are bare. I'm wearing his shirt. My whole existence is a mess. “Your daughter is going to be the head of a planetary ethics council someday.”
“She’s already written four petitions.”
“I believe it.”
He looks at me—reallylooksat me—and then brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes with this incredibly gentle little touch that makes my chest do the worst thing.
