Chapter 290 | Jasmine’s Visit

Chapter 290: 290 | Jasmine’s Visit

When Dexter lowered his phone, Mira’s face was turned toward him.

She said nothing.

Somehow, that made him feel more guilty than a question would have.

Her fingers rested against the arm of her wheelchair, a little too still.

Dexter put his phone away.

"There’s already a protection formation covering the whole house," he said gently. "I’ll check it again before I leave. You’ll be safe here."

Mira’s expression barely changed.

Dexter glanced at Selene and Lyra. Neither was smiling.

"It was Cole," he explained. "My team member. We’re going to practise at a regulated training facility with other registered heroes."

"So trouble requires an invitation now?"

Dexter opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Given his recent experiences, that was a difficult argument to win.

Lyra’s lips curved. Even Selene looked faintly amused, though her fingers remained wrapped tightly around her cup.

Dexter sighed and moved closer to Mira.

"I’ll be careful."

"You always say that."

There was no accusation in her voice.

That troubled him more.

He crouched beside her wheelchair and rested his hand over hers. Her fingers stiffened beneath his touch before slowly relaxing.

For a moment, she seemed about to pull away.

Instead, she turned her hand beneath his.

"You came back hurt," she said quietly.

Dexter’s smile faded.

"I know," he said.

Her fingers tightened around his.

"Then try to remember it before you get hurt again."

Dexter lowered his head for a moment.

"I will."

She did not tell him she believed him.

But she held his hand a little longer before letting go.

"There’s something else," he said as he stood.

He raised his hand.

Space rippled beside him.

A tall figure appeared between the sofa and the doorway.

Lyra immediately stepped back.

Mira’s spectral arm rose.

A thin layer of frost spread beneath Selene’s cup, and Dexter felt the temperature in the room drop.

"It’s all right," he said quickly. "It belongs to me."

The figure stood motionless.

Its body resembled dark stone shaped into the form of a man, though its joints were too precise and its surface too smooth to belong to any ordinary statue. Faint lines ran beneath its exterior, converging at a dimly glowing mark in its chest.

Its expressionless face tilted upward.

Its eyes opened.

For one brief instant, an oppressive aura filled the room.

Lyra’s breath caught.

Dexter suppressed it immediately, but the silence that followed was different from the one before.

Mira’s hand tightened against her wheelchair.

Selene straightened sharply.

"This is a guardian puppet," Dexter said. "Initial Stage Transcendent."

No one spoke.

Then Mira slowly turned toward him.

"A what?"

"A Transcendent-level guardian puppet."

Normally, that would have earned him an irritated response.

This time, she seemed too stunned to give him one.

Selene cautiously extended her perception toward the motionless figure.

The energy contained within it was immense. Even restrained, it pressed against her senses with a weight that made her withdraw almost immediately.

A Transcendent.

Someone at that level could decide the fate of powerful organizations. Families spent generations trying to nurture a single expert who might one day reach such heights.

Dexter had produced one in their sitting room.

Lyra looked from the puppet to him.

"Does it have a name?"

Dexter blinked.

"Not yet."

She considered the figure again.

"Can it cook?"

He stared at her.

"Would you replace me that quickly?"

Her eyes widened.

"No."

Then, after a moment, she added, "It could help you cook more."

Selene let out a quiet laugh.

Dexter shook his head, but Lyra had already moved closer to him. Her fingers caught lightly at his sleeve.

"And then you could rest sometimes," she added.

His teasing reply died before he could say it.

Lyra was looking at the puppet now, studying its broad shoulders with great seriousness, as though she had just found a sensible solution to something that had been troubling her.

Dexter covered her fingers briefly with his hand.

Mira looked at him.

"So you still won’t tell us who’s backing you?"

Dexter smirked and shrugged.

"Why must someone be supporting me? Can’t I support myself?"

"If you don’t want to tell us, then don’t." Her voice softened slightly. "Just don’t lie."

"I’m not—"

He stopped.

There were things he could say. Pieces of the truth he could offer.

None of them would answer the question she was really asking.

Mira waited.

Dexter looked down at the hand he had held a moment earlier.

"I’m not trying to shut you out," he said.

Something shifted in her expression.

"Then you should know," she replied, "that it sometimes feels that way."

The words were quiet enough that he almost wished she had said them angrily.

Anger, he could tease her out of.

This left him standing there with nothing clever to say.

"I know there are things I haven’t explained," he admitted. "And I know asking you to trust me doesn’t make that easier, but please do."

Mira lowered her spectral arm.

Dexter glanced at all three of them.

"But this will stay here whenever I’m away. Whatever else you’re unsure of, you can be sure that I’ve made arrangements to protect you."

He turned toward the puppet.

"Protect the household."

The mark in its chest brightened.

"Prioritize Mira, Selene, and Lyra."

"Do not pursue an enemy beyond the property if doing so would leave them exposed."

The puppet inclined its head.

"Understood."

Its voice was low and strangely even.

Mira listened to it, then turned back toward Dexter.

"And who stays with you?"

He looked at her.

For a moment, the room was very quiet.

Before he could answer, a knock sounded outside.

Lyra released his sleeve.

Dexter glanced toward the entrance, then instructed the puppet to withdraw its presence and take up a position near the corridor.

As he passed Mira, his fingers brushed her shoulder.

"We’ll finish talking," he said quietly.

She gave a small nod.

Afternoon sunlight lay across the front yard.

Beyond the gate stood a woman holding a paper bag against her chest.

Dexter approached without thinking much of it. His mind was still inside the house, still caught on Mira’s last question.

Then the woman lifted her face.

His hand stopped above the latch.

For several seconds, he could only stare.

She smiled.

It was smaller than the smile he remembered. Uncertain at the edges.

But he knew it.

He had remembered that smile through days when there had been very little else worth remembering.

"Hello, Dexter."

Something tightened painfully in his throat.

"Jasmine?"

She nodded, and her fingers creased the paper bag.

He had imagined seeing her again.

More times than he would ever admit.

In some of those imaginings, he had been successful enough that she would no longer have to worry about him. In others, he had simply been someone who could stand in front of her without feeling ashamed of his worn clothes and empty pockets.

Now she was here.

And he could not think of a single thing to say.

Jasmine had rehearsed several ways to greet him.

On the journey over, she had decided she would be casual. She would ask how he had been, smile, perhaps tease him for becoming famous without telling her.

She had even practised a sentence under her breath.

Every word disappeared when she saw him.

He looked healthier... happier.

There was colour in his face. His shoulders had broadened, and he stood upright without that old, unconscious habit of making himself smaller when someone approached.

She remembered how often he used to step aside before anyone asked him to, how quickly he would apologise, even when the fault was someone else’s.

She had hated that.

Now she searched his face and found something she had wanted for him for so long that, for a moment, her eyes stung.

He looked happy.

The thought warmed her and then, unexpectedly, it hurt.

"Are you going to leave me outside?" she asked softly.

Dexter blinked.

"No. Of course not."

He fumbled with the latch.

The small, awkward movement nearly undid her.

There he was.

For all the changes, there was still something of the boy who had stood on a rooftop with a folded blue sweater in his hands, staring at her as though she had given him something far more precious.

Jasmine stepped through the gate.

For a moment, they stood too close to continue pretending this was an ordinary visit, and too far apart to greet each other as they once might have.

Dexter noticed how tightly she was gripping the bag.

Jasmine noticed that he had forgotten to close the gate.

They both looked away.

"H-how did you find me?" he asked.

"Rachel."

"Rachel?"

"We’re working at the same branch now. She was showing me around, and someone mentioned you. There was something about an incident at Harvest Homes."

His expression shifted.

Jasmine searched his face.

"When I heard your name, I thought there had to be another Dexter."

"Unfortunately, the world only has one of me."

A small laugh escaped her.

His mouth curved in response.

For a few seconds, she could breathe properly again.

She had missed this—the way he could find something foolish to say even when neither of them knew what to do.

Then her gaze moved past him to the house.

There were voices inside.

A woman laughed softly.

Jasmine’s smile faltered before she managed to steady it.

"I hope I haven’t come at a bad time."

"No."

He answered quickly.

Then, more gently, "You haven’t."

She nodded, though she was no longer certain what a good time would have looked like.

Dexter finally closed the gate.

"Come in."

Mira heard his voice before he returned.

She had been listening without meaning to.

At first, there had been silence.

Then a name.

Jasmine.

Dexter had said it so quietly that she might have missed it if the room had not gone still.

Now he was speaking again, and something in his voice made her fingers curl against her palm.

She knew many versions of his voice but this one was unfamiliar. He sounded flustered.

Mira slowly withdrew her hand from the armrest as a moment earlier, she had been holding his.

Dexter entered with Jasmine beside him.

Lyra turned from the corridor, where she had been examining the puppet. Selene lifted her face, her attention settling on the unfamiliar footsteps.

Dexter stopped just inside the room.

The pause was brief.

Mira felt every second of it.

He glanced at his wives, then at Jasmine, suddenly conscious of how much of his life neither side knew.

"This is Jasmine Constance," he said. "We knew each other at the Ashford estate."

The introduction sounded inadequate as soon as he spoke it.

Jasmine had been kind to him when kindness was something he had learned not to expect.

But Mira was sitting only a few steps away, waiting for him to finish speaking. Selene had set down her cup. Lyra was watching him with open curiosity.

He swallowed.

"Jasmine, these are my wives. Mira, Selene, and Lyra."

My wives.

He said it naturally.

That was what hurt.

There was no hesitation in the words themselves. Whatever had unsettled him at the gate, this part of his life was certain.

Jasmine looked at the three women.

She had known he was married.

Rachel had told her. Dexter had told her himself.

She had repeated the fact to herself before coming here, convinced that knowing would be enough but...

Her fingers tightened around the bag.

She had brought something for him.

Now she could hear the paper crumpling in the silence.

"Hello,"

[A/N: The rest will be posted soon. Please, take good care of your health and happy weekend!]