Raising a little boy as rambunctious and eager as Cor was an exercise in the fine art of not screaming.
Zana took another deep breath. The four-year-old clung to the top of a teetering bookcase. Ijeve was a space station, occasionally subject to turbulence, and furniture was lashed to walls. Only that had saved Cor from crashing to the floor with the books.
“I’m sorry!” He whined as he scrabbled to maintain his grip.
She reached up and snatched him down, making him yelp, then held him tightly to her chest. “You are in so much trouble.”