Milk dribbles down her chin. I sigh, wipe it off with the corner of the burp cloth, and try again.
She makes a noise halfway between a hiccup and a laugh. I smile despite myself.
It’s been a week since Kira attacked us. A week since Luka dragged her off, and Petyr came back with thirteen stitches along his arm. He says he’s fine, but I know better. He always says that, even when he’s bleeding.
Lilia fusses and squirms in my arms. I shift her into a better position and cradle her closer. She finally latches, and her eyes flutter shut as she settles.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Ever since the shock of that night made me lose my milk, I’ve been terrified Lilia would refuse the bottle. But she’s been good about it,mostly. A little fussy, maybe, but I don’t care. Every second I spend with her feels like a privilege.
The nursery smells like formula now. I keep the lamps low, warm and soft. The shadows make everything feel smaller. Safer. Almost peaceful.
Almost.
Petyr hasn’t said much about that night. In fact, he’s been carefully avoiding bringing it up with me. But I know what happened. Everyone knows, even if no one says it out loud.
Kira’s dead.
I don’t know who did it. Whether Luka finished the job or Petyr handled it himself, or if it was really me with that clock. But the outcome’s the same. She’s gone. And I should feel something about that, shouldn’t I?
Guilt. Pity. Anything.
But I don’t.
All I feel is relief.
She’ll never come near me again. Never raise a hand to my child. With her gone, Petyr doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open, waiting for the next betrayal.
It’s a terrible thing, realizing someone’s death makes you feel safe. But it’s the truth. With Kira gone, I can breathe easier.
Maybe that’s what happens when you live in a world like this one. You stop pretending everything has to be moral to be right.
Lilia makes a soft sound in her sleep. Her little fist opens, closes again. I brush my thumb across her cheek, the perfect curve of it.Her irises are starting to darken. She’s going to have Petyr’s eyes. Same gold-brown, same quiet fire.
I don’t know what scares me more: that she’ll grow up to be like him, or that she won’t.
The door creaks. I look up, already knowing who it is before I see him.
Petyr stands in the doorway. He looks tired but steady, as if the rage that used to live under his skin has finally burned itself out.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask quietly.
“No.” He shakes his head. “You?”
“Same.” I glance down at Lilia, who’s finally drifting off. “She kept fussing.”
Petyr crosses the room and stops beside me. He doesn’t touch me, but the warmth of him reaches anyway. He looks down at the baby, something unreadable in his eyes. His hand hovers near her for a second, then settles gently against her back.
Now that there’s finally nothing left unsaid between us, the silence has grown comfortable again. Cozy, even.
“She’s the spitting image of you,” he murmurs.
I laugh softly. “She has your eyes. Soon, anyway.”
“The shape is all yours.”
“Then I guess we’ll call it even.”
We fall quiet again. Only the hum of the monitor fills the room. For a moment, it feels like peace might actually exist here, fragile and fleeting though it is.
