Page 33 of The First Child
Aniska responds with gurgling sounds that might be agreement, her silver-flecked eyes focusing on Hada’s face with the intense attention she reserves for her favorite people. Through our empathic connection, I feel the child’s contentment wash over both of us—pure trust that the adults in her life will continue providing the safety and love she needs to thrive.
“She doesn’t understand,” I observe.
“Good. She shouldn’t have to understand that there are people who would hurt her in the name of scientific advancement.” Hada’s voice carries the kind of protective fury that makes me grateful she’s on our side. “But she will understand that we fought for her. That we never gave up, never stopped believing she belonged with us.”
“Even if we lose?”
“We’re not going to lose.” Her eyes meet mine over Aniska’s head, blue and determined and full of faith I wish I could fully share. “We’re going to prove that love creates better outcomes than clinical observation ever could. We’re going to show them what healthy empathic development looks like when a child is raised by people who see her as precious rather than interesting.”
“And if that’s not enough?”
“Then we find another way. But we don’t stop fighting, and we don’t let anyone convince us that bureaucracy matters more than family.”
I watch her hold our daughter with fierce protectiveness, and through our empathic bond, I feel the absolute commitment that drives every decision she makes. Hada Blaxton would burn down the galaxy before letting anyone harm Aniska. She would challenge every authority, defy every regulation, sacrifice everything she has to keep our family together.
Which means the TCA has no idea what they’re really up against.
“Forty-seven hours,” I say quietly.
“Forty-seven hours to save everything that matters.” She adjusts Aniska in her arms, and our daughter makes soft sounds of contentment that fill the room with empathic warmth. “Think we can do it?”
“I think we have to.”
“Good enough for me.”
The communication pad chimes with another incoming priority message, probably additional documentation in the TCA’s case against us. Neither of us moves to answer it. For now, this moment is enough—the three of us together in the soft glow of Christmas lights and bioluminescent panels, holding each other against whatever storm is coming.
Tomorrow, we fight for our future. Today we remember why it’s worth fighting for.
CHAPTER 11
HADA
Christmas Eve should be magical.It should be soft and warm and full of the kind of peace that comes from being exactly where you belong with the people who matter most. Instead, I stand in our living room at dawn, watching Sylas perform some kind of Zephyrian ritual that makes the air itself shimmer with empathic energy, while I try not to think about the fact that this might be our last morning together as a family.
The emergency tribunal hearing is in six hours. Six hours to prove that Aniska belongs with us rather than in some TCA research facility where they’ll study her empathic abilities like she’s a laboratory specimen instead of a child who deserves love and stability and the chance to develop her gifts safely.
Six hours to save everything we’ve built together.
“The bonding ceremony will stabilize our empathic connection,” Sylas explains, his voice carrying the careful calm that emerges when he’s trying not to let his own anxiety bleed through our mental link. “If we’re going to demonstrate our bond publicly, it needs to be strong enough to withstand external scrutiny.”
“Will it hurt?”
“No. But it will create permanent changes in our consciousness. Once the bond is formalized, we’ll be linked at levels that transcend physical proximity.” His silver-gold eyes meet mine, and I see the vulnerability beneath his spiritual composure. “Are you certain you want this? The connection will be irreversible.”
The question should terrify me. Permanent telepathic bonding with someone I’ve known for less than a month, changes to my consciousness that can never be undone, linking my mental state to another person in ways I don’t fully understand. But watching him prepare the ritual circle with careful precision, feeling his love for both me and Aniska through our existing connection, I find myself more certain than I’ve ever been about anything.
“I’m certain about you. About us. About what we’re building together.” I move to stand beside him, noting how his bioluminescent markings pulse with warm gold light in response to my proximity. “Besides, we’re already connected in every way that matters. This just makes it official.”
“Official.” He repeats the word like he’s testing its weight. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
The ritual itself is simpler than I expected. No elaborate ceremonies or complex preparations, just Sylas and me sitting cross-legged facing each other while he guides my consciousness through techniques that feel like a cross between meditation and the most intimate conversation I’ve ever had. His mental voice whispers through our connection, teaching me to open channels I didn’t know existed, to share awareness at levels deeper than conscious thought.
Let me in,he murmurs through the empathic link.Completely. Without reservation.
I’m trying.
Don’t try. Trust.
