Nero reached his parents' private rooms twenty-seven minutes later, clean, dressed in loose dark trousers and a soft white shirt that made him look less like a prince prepared to terrify ministers and more like someone Chris would accept into his sitting room without making comments about blood pressure.
The doors had barely opened before Jax appeared.
He was seven, barefoot, bright-eyed, and holding a tablet with the solemnity of a diplomat carrying a treaty.
"Nero," he said immediately. "I need you."
Nero stopped on the threshold. "No."
Jax's mouth fell open. "You do not even know what it is."
"That has never protected me before."
"It is important."
"It is bedtime."
"It is military."
"You are seven."
Jax thrust the tablet toward him. "I need permission to move two training drones into the west corridor because the current patrol route is boring."
