A.N. This is part of the series. To catch up, read , , and
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PROLOGUE
Inara sat quickly on the porch swing as a sharp pain stabbed through her torso. Breathing deeply, she wrapped her arms tightly around her chest trying to contain the whimper of pain tingling in her throat. In a moment it passed, leaving only the warm kiss of sunshine on her skin and the gentle caress of the autumn breeze. Sitting sideways on the swing’s bench, she leaned against the arms and stretched her legs across the seat, tilting her head side to side to induce a gentle rocking motion. Inara loved this swing. It could be sub-zero in the dead of winter, and she’d still come out here, bundled and blanketed, armed with hot tea, absorbing the peacefulness of rocking slowly and staring at the sky.
The postman trundled up their street, laden with a full bag and a few small packages. Inara laughed as Mal dashed out of the house and intercepted the courier while he was still several doors away. Mal loved getting mail. Little Zoë had always been good about sending postcard, and even though she’d been living with them the last ten months, recovering from her latest cancer relapse, she’d started sneaking out to the post office and having things mailed back to the house. Zoë wrote elaborate tales of her adventures, most of them made up to protect the true nature of her work.
The boys didn’t use courier post as much. Cole would send them a wave a few times a week. Michael was a wild card and if he didn’t randomly show up at their doorstep begging for handouts, he’d send anything from pictures to classified senate proceedings, all via cortex and only occasionally encrypted. When Jayne had demanded Michael return Vera, Michael
"You can't take the sky from me!"
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