She lets out a sound that hovers between a laugh and a sob. “You’re both idiots.”
“Probably,” I say. “But we’re not walking away unless you tell us you don’t want this. Not because of how it looks on a family tree. Not because Abi is a hurricane in heels. Not because some gossip column would need a flowchart to explain us.”
A little snort escapes her. “We’d need algebra for this.”
“Exactly,” I say. “If you want out because your feelings changed, we walk. If you want out because you’re scared, we slow down and tread carefully. If you want in and you’re just worried about everybody else, that’s a different conversation.”
She looks at the floor, then at us, like she’s trying to decide which world she wants to live in.
“It scares me,” she says finally. “A lot.”
“Me too,” Silas answers.
That surprises her. “You?”
“Yes,” he says. “I’m not used to sharing someone I care about with anyone. I’m not used to the idea of being step-anything to the woman in my bed. It’s messy. It makes my head hurt if I think too hard.”
“It makes me want to punch Talon twice as much,” I add.
She chokes out half a laugh.
“But,” Silas continues, “it also feels right when you’re between us. When you laugh. When you call me out on my shit. When you look at him like he hung the moon and me like I moved the tide. I like how this feels more than I’m afraid of the rest.”
Her eyes flick to mine.
“I’m not interested in some neat little box if it doesn’t have you in it,” I say simply.
The pressure behind her eyes breaks; a tear slips free. She wipes it away, annoyed. “Don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”
“We mean them,” we say together.
Of course we do. That's the problem and the solution.
She breathes in. Out. Color starts to come back into her face.
“Okay,” she says. “We try.”
Relief hits so hard I have to close my eyes for a second. Silas’ shoulders drop a fraction, the closest he gets to sagging.
“But we take it slow,” she adds. “And honest. No hiding things. No half truths. Club rules apply outside the club too. Full consent. Full disclosure. If something feels off, we stop and talk about it. If one of us taps out, the other two listen. And if this ever starts to hurt more than it helps, we reassess before it explodes.”
“Agreed,” I say immediately.
“Completely,” Silas echoes.
Her smile is small and shaky but real. I want to frame it.
“Tonight,” I say, “we go to Velvet. We sit down. We talk kinks, limits, what we want out of this, all of it. We give ourselves the kind of structure we would give any other scene. Only this is not just a scene.”
“This is our life,” Silas says.
“And Talon,” she reminds us.
“And Talon,” I say. “After we talk as a trio, I’ll talk to him. Uncle to nephew. Not to scare him off you, but to set him straight about threats and lines.”
Silas smiles, slow and sharp. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll talk to him.”
“Try words first,” she says.
