“Oh no!” She sat bolt upright in bed. “My parents!”

He groaned, and attempted to pull her back into the warmth of the covers. “I don’t want to talk about your parents right now,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow. He’d barely had any sleep, and his head throbbed like a drum; the thought of facing her parents was absolutely not helping.

Pushing his arms away, she scrambled out of bed. “I have to get home!”

His eyes snapped open, confusion etched on his face. “Now?”

“I didn’t mean to sleep here,” she shot back, her tone laced with reproach as she headed for the bathroom.

Seconds later, the telltale sound of the shower filled the room, because of course. With a grimace, he dragged himself out of bed, feeling as if a troupe of dwarves were hammering away inside his skull. Glancing around the room, he noted the strength of the sunlight. It had to be well past noon, but he still would’ve liked to sleep in. He was no devotee of the dawn, preferring the cloak of night for his endeavors—of all kinds. As he rose and stretched, he couldn’t help but wish that the curtains were less threadbare, offering more sanctuary from the unwelcome glare outside. He felt like he’d spent the night in some dive bar, not baring his soul. Well, there’d been some talking and then there’d been a second round of him showcasing his talents. In the end, she’d begrudgingly agreed that his piercing did have its uses.

Joining her in the bathroom, he put the toilet seat up.

Her shriek pierced the air with such intensity that he instinctively reached for a weapon, and narrowly avoided spraying himself in the face. “What?” he exclaimed, caught off guard by her outburst.

Peering around the shower curtain, she waved him off frantically. “You can’t do that!”

He glanced down at himself, utterly bewildered. “What?”

“You’re naked!” She stared at him. “And you’re—you’re peeing!”

And here he thought he was the master of stating the obvious. “Sweetheart, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

His tone and point were, in his opinion, both quite reasonable but Udit evidently disagreed. With an indignant sniff, she pulled the shower curtain shut, leaving him to finish up in peace. Then, because he also liked to face the world with a certain degree of cleanliness, he joined her.

She blushed, but didn’t object.

She’d already washed her hair. As he lathered his own, she stepped closer, taking charge of the job. Her hands moved over his chest and shoulders, next, the warm water mingling with the sensation of her touch. Then, she guided him to turn around so she could reach his back. It was the first time she’d seen the other side of him up close, revealing an impressive green and black dragon rearing between his shoulder blades. Though taken aback, she managed to contain her surprise, sparing his eardrums from another shockwave. “Do the colors hold significance, or just the designs?”

“Green and black represent my house,” he explained. “House Mara Sant.”

“It’s beautiful work,” she remarked.

He smiled back at her. “Thank you.”

She trailed her finger down his spine, marveling at the intricate details. “There must be a thousand scales,” she observed, her touch gentle against his skin. “Maybe even more. But only some of them are colored in.” Her brow furrowed with puzzlement. “How come?”

Because he’d earned each scale, was the answer, with a new act of murder. But he didn’t want to talk about that right now. Facing her again, he pulled her close, seeking solace in her warmth. Their lips met in a passionate embrace, and she responded eagerly, her skin glistening under the spray of the water. With a gentle lift, he brought her closer, relishing the sensation of her legs wrapping around his waist. Her arms encircled him, her closeness overpowering in its intoxication.

He pressed her against the cool, tiled wall of the shower, his touch firm yet tender as he cradled her head in his hand, mindful of her delicate frame. Their lips collided in another fierce kiss, passion igniting between them as her teeth grazed his lip, drawing him deeper into the intoxicating embrace. The sensation of her enveloping him sent a shiver down his spine, her strength surprising him despite her petite stature. As he supported her with one hand, the other ventured southward, teasing her most sensitive spot. A soft moan escaped her lips, her warm breath sending shivers down his spine. And then, in a moment of pure ecstasy, they became one, their connection transcending the physical realm as they surrendered to the waves of pleasure crashing over them, leaving them breathless and spent.

He turned off the cascading water, cradling her in his arms as he carried her into the bedroom, the weight of their shared intimacy lingering between them like a gentle caress. As they nestled together in the warmth of the bed, a sense of fleeting tranquility enveloped them, each reluctant to disturb the fragile peace that that they’d somehow managed to create. Yet, beneath the surface, a quiet urgency pulsed through him, reminding him that he didn’t live here and couldn’t. This halcyon time—whatever he wanted—was drawing to its inevitable end.

With a heavy heart, he sat up and leaned against the headboard. “There’s something we need to discuss,” he began, the gravity of his words casting a shadow over their intimate cocoon.

Her silence spoke volumes, a palpable ache resonating in the air as she anticipated his next words. “You’re going to tell me that you’re leaving,” she whispered.

His heart clenched. “Yes,” he conceded. “And that I want you to come.”

Moving away, she wrapped the coverlet around herself in a protective gesture. “You mean that?”

Her voice trembled with a mix of disbelief and vulnerability, uncertainty clouding her features. He crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “Why are you so surprised?” The question hung heavy in the air, his frustration tinged with hurt. He reminded himself of all she’d endured, and felt a surge of empathy. It wasn’t about him; it was about the scars left by those who’d failed her before. She’d spent the night in his arms, plagued by the fear of abandonment—not because she doubted his affection but because she, like him, had learned to expect disappointment.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

Yet, instead of relief, her response held apprehension. “This is all happening so fast,” she murmured, her voice soft and hesitant. “I need some time to think.”

He fought the urge to retort that there was nothing so complex to contemplate—either she reciprocated his feelings, or she didn’t. Instead, he swallowed his anger and forced himself to remain composed. “Alright,” he conceded, although his tone betrayed his reluctance.

A fleeting smile graced her lips. “In the meantime, perhaps you could spend some time with my parents. This—everything—has been a shock to me, I can only imagine how they must feel.”

He nodded in unwilling agreement. The prospect of bonding with Mohan was about as appealing as teaching snails to sprint or juggling flamingoes, but compared to the weight of her request, it seemed trivial. “Alright,” he acquiesced. “First, though, let’s get lunch—and not at The Golden Lotus.”

She hesitated, then went to gather her things.

In the quiet of the hotel room, uncertainty lingered like a heavy fog. Ceres moved with determined efficiency, strapping on his concealed weapons with practiced precision, each click and snap a testament to his readiness for whatever lay ahead. His gaze flickered to Udit, her silhouette framed by the afternoon light, as she methodically donned her clothes. There was a weightiness to the air, thick with unspoken words and the burden of their uncertain future. With each garment she put on, it was as if she was building a barrier between them, shielding herself from the vulnerability of his proposal. And yet, amidst the silent tension, there lingered a glimmer of hope, a silent plea for their shared journey to transcend the confines of doubt and hesitation.

They made their way downstairs to the lobby, where the desk clerk—true to form—was napping. Ceres nodded politely at him before ushering Udit out the door and into the bustling street. “Let's find somewhere that serves food fit for humans, shall we?” he suggested, pretending that everything was normal as he scanned the hodgepodge of stalls opposite.

She paused, then nodded. “There’s a different café, around the corner.”

It was behind some sort of free clinic, removed from the teeming crowds and blissfully quiet. With a sense of relief, he led her in and found a small table on the covered terrace. Her uncertainty lingered in her gaze, but he sensed a subtle shift. He flashed her an encouraging smile and, after a minute, she smiled back. He scanned the menu, relieved that she was warming up to him again and at the distinct lack of rodent-based offerings. “Finally,” he said, signaling for the waiter, “a meal that doesn’t require a tetanus shot afterward.”

She giggled, in spite of herself.

He ordered for both of them, knowing that she’d pick something small and inexpensive and wanting to spoil her. Tea arrived and she sipped hers, while he gathered his thoughts. There was another topic he needed to broach, and one equally sensitive. “Udit,” he began, “I know that your father is committed to pacifism. And, believe it or not, I do respect that. But in the face of the growing unrest around here, and in the Outer Rim as a whole, his ideals can’t keep your family safe.”

She absorbed this speech, in silence. “But pacifism isn’t just an ideal.”

He studied her. “Do you consider yourself a pacifist, too?”

Her gaze dropped to the table. “I’d like to be.”

“I understand that,” he replied gently. “But, sometimes, our circumstances force us to reassess how we live our principles. I’m sure he’d argue that attacking me wasn’t pacifism, I disagree.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “How?”

“You committed a small act of violence, to prevent a much larger one.” His voice was soft.

She made a hopeless gesture. “It didn’t change anything,” she said, her voice breaking. “You’re going to kill him, regardless. And my father…he’s trying to keep us safe, the best way he knows how.”

Their lunch arrived, chickpeas cooked in some kind of suspicious slop along with overcooked naan and samosas that looked liked the’d been birthed by an ostrich. He truly, truly hated the food everywhere in Dharavi and on Mahima IV but to Udit the food on Brontes would all taste like cardboard. Lunch in Chau Cera was almost always some kind of cheese spread, on some kind of bread, with or without a liberal amount of fermented fish sauce.

He broke apart a samosa. “The mouse hides from the eagle.”

She watched the ebb and flow of the street. “I just want the world to be different.”

“I’m not asking him to abandon anything,” Ceres countered, his tone earnest. “I’m just saying that he might need to adapt, to protect those he loves.” Memories of his own father flooded his mind, Caracalla’s fate a testament to the consequences of inaction. “Sometimes, the path of peace requires us to take a stand against those who threaten it.”

At last, she started eating. “You don’t understand what it’s like—the pimps, the protection rackets. It’s the next best thing to Hell. I’ve seen what a culture of violence can produce,” she added quietly. “And I believe that this notion of justifiable violence versus unjustifiable violence is nothing but a comforting falsehood we cling to, so we can sleep at night.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. But turning a blind eye to men like the ones who invaded your home last night doesn’t erase them. It's a systemic problem, can’t you see? For society to shift, everyone must shift. And as long as there are incentives for others to exploit their peers and gain an upper hand, change will remain elusive. That’s the world we live in.”

His tone had hardened toward the end, and she recoiled. “So what are you saying, Ceres, that you only kill people who somehow deserve that fate? Out of billions of imperfect people, in the cosmos?”

“I don’t ask,” he confessed. ‘But do you truly believe that a man would offer a million darics to another man, to end a life, unless that someone had committed heinous acts?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s your going rate?”

He nodded. “Sometimes more.”

A monkey, wild this time, swung down from the tarp and started chattering loudly and eyeing the last remnants of his lunch. With a resigned sigh, he offered it up to the mangy creature, likely teeming with rabies. He hadn’t been too fond of the vegetable samosa anyway, and Udit seemed to like it when he was generous. “There are no perfect men,” he murmured. “Only perfect intentions. I won’t pretend that everything I do is justified or right—no man should. Anyone who claims otherwise is either a liar or blinded by pride, unable to see their own shortcomings. But what I will assert is that I stand by the truth of what I’ve shared with you.”

A silence settled between them, stretching on for what felt like ages.

Then, reaching out, she placed her hand over his.

Relief washed over him.

“We should go home,” she said. “And see if you can find some common ground with my father.”