The words hung in the air.
"I'm sixteen."
Javi's head turned slowly toward his son.
For a split second—just one—something cold and irrational flashed through him.
Twenty years.
Sixteen years.
His mind did the math before he consciously processed it.
A sharp, silent jolt hit his chest.
He looked at Lukas. At the line of his jaw. The familiar greenish-brown eyes. The shape of his mouth. The way his fingers curled when he was thinking.
For one dangerous heartbeat, doubt tried to creep in.
Then logic crushed it.
He had taken a DNA test.
He had insisted on it back then—not because he doubted her, but because when Jane signed over her parental rights, the legal process required it. Paternity had to be confirmed beyond dispute.
He remembered sitting in a sterile office, holding a newborn in his arms while swabs were taken. He remembered the official letter weeks later.
99.99%.
There had never been a question.
He forced himself to breathe evenly.
