Page 7 of The First Child
Captain Blaxton looks up at me, and for the first time since we met, I see past her military facade to the uncertainty beneath. “I don’t know anything about raising children. Human or otherwise.”
“Neither do I,” I admit. “Zephyrian priests traditionally provide spiritual guidance, not day-to-day care. We have theories and techniques, but no practical experience with hybrid development.”
“So, we’re both improvising.”
“Yes.”
Something shifts in the air between us—not empathic projection, but a recognition of shared challenge. We’re both out of our depth, responsible for a child whose needs neither of us fully understands. The realization should be terrifying.
Instead, I find it oddly reassuring.
Aniska stirs in her carrier, making the soft sounds that precede waking. Captain Blaxton moves instinctively to comfort her,and I watch as her presence alone settles the infant back into peaceful sleep.
“She trusts you,” I observe.
“She barely knows me.”
“Trust isn’t always about knowledge. Sometimes it’s about recognition—the sense that someone understands what you need, even if they can’t provide everything you want.”
Captain Blaxton’s gaze finds mine, and the intensity of her attention makes my markings pulse with energy I can’t quite control. “Is that your way of saying you’re willing to share custody?”
“It’s my way of saying I think Lieutenant Altell may have been wiser than either of us realized. Aniska needs both of us—your empathic connection and my knowledge of Zephyrian development. Neither of us can provide everything she requires alone.”
“The council won’t like that answer.”
“The council will accept whatever recommendation serves the child’s best interests.” I pause, considering the implications of what I’m about to suggest. “Assuming we can prove that shared guardianship will work.”
“How?”
“By spending the next few days demonstrating that we can cooperate despite our… cultural differences.”
Her lips quirk upward in what might be amusement. “Cultural differences. Is that what we’re calling it?”
“What would you call it?”
“Mutual antagonism with a side of stubborn pride.”
The bluntness of her assessment catches me off guard, and I find myself almost smiling. “That’s… not inaccurate.”
“At least we’re starting from an honest place.”
Aniska chooses that moment to wake fully, her silver-flecked eyes opening to focus on Captain Blaxton’s face. The contentment that radiates from her tiny form fills the room like warm light, washing away the tension that’s been building between us.
“Hello, beautiful,” Captain Blaxton murmurs, her voice soft with affection. “Ready to see your new temporary home?”
I watch her lift the child from the carrier with movements that speak of military precision transformed into gentle care. Aniska settles against her shoulder with a soft sigh, one tiny hand fisting in the fabric of her jacket.
“She likes you,” I say unnecessarily.
“She likes feeling safe.” Captain Blaxton’s expression grows thoughtful. “The question is whether we can keep her feeling that way while we figure out the rest.”
“We can.” The certainty in my voice surprises me, but I don’t question it. “We will.”
“You sound pretty confident for someone who just admitted he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“I know what matters most,” I tell her. “Aniska’s wellbeing. Everything else is negotiable.”
Something in her posture relaxes at that, as if I passed some test I didn’t know I was taking. “Okay then. Where should we start?”
