Page 19 of Stars in Nova

The creature inside rustled but didn’t resist, as though her touch alone was enough to calm it.

‘Naam,’ the boy nodded.

She stood up straight. ‘Come. Let’s get help.’

‘You don’t know the kid?’ Kisan asked, studying her.

‘Nada,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I was walking past when I caught the commotion.’

Kisan jerked his chin at her in approval.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Kisan murmured, placing his hand on the shoulder of the youngster who stayed close, his trust hesitant but growing.

The Rider was hit with a deluge of feeling as the boy’s tiny hand wrapped around his own.

Finally, someone on this rock who trusted him.

It was such a rare sensation that Kisan almost folded over from the surge of emotion.

He sucked his teeth to hide his reaction as the three of them made their way toward the animal shelter. The boy walked between them, his small hand gripping Kisan’s.

Their strides found a natural rhythm, even as the Rider towered over the graceful dancer and the young child.

Samira glanced at Kisan every so often, her eyes lingering as though trying to solve a puzzle.

‘You’re not what I expected,’ she murmured.

Kisan sliced his gaze to her, bristling, arching a brow. ‘What does that mean?’

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the child before meeting his again. ‘The stories paint you as ruthless. Cold. A man without mercy.’

He didn’t respond for a beat.

‘I was that man,’ he admitted in a timbred burr. ‘Maybe I still am. I’m striving not to be.’

Her expression softened, and she glanced away, her gaze fixed on the street ahead. ‘I don’t believe the stories. I’ve seen enough darkness to distinguish between someone who destroys and a soul attempting to rebuild.’

Kisan pursed his lips, unable to respond.

Her words, so simple and honest, pierced through his armor.

He canted his eyes from her, fighting the surge of need that flashed through him.

The animal shelter on Fourteenth Street was a modest building, its exterior weathered but well-kept.

Inside, the air was scented with hay and antiseptic.

The center’s staff, composed of kind-hearted locals, greeted them with warm smiles. They took the injured hopper from the boy with promises to nurture the creature and return the child home.

‘We’ll take good care of it and you,’ one of the workers promised, her voice soothing as she reassured the youth.

With arms crossed over his chest, Kisan took in the scene as Samira knelt to the child’s level, brushing a stray curl from his face. ‘You did something brave today. You should be proud.’

The lad shrugged, bashful.

He then glanced at Kisan, who crouched beside him. ‘Sante, Rider.’

‘What’s your name, kid?’ the Guardian rasped.

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