She flinches, as if expecting me to withdraw. I stay.
There’s a long silence, thick. I want to sweep her into my arms, tell her she’s mine. But every part of me screams that would frighten her, push her away.
So I just stand there, steadied. I keep breathing.
When Vex murmurs awake, she lifts him and carries him back to his cradle. I follow behind, slow steps.
I watch her tuck him in. Press a kiss on his forehead. Turn toward me.
Her eyes flicker, uncertain. She breathes.
I hold my ground.
I say nothing.
But my heart says everything.
CHAPTER 29
ELLA
I’m grinning at the kitchen, a soft, ridiculous grin that feels like it might crack my face.
He’s across the room, standing over Vex’s crib. But he isn’t just watching. He’s reinforcing it. His massive hands, capable of tearing through hull plating, are moving with impossible delicacy as he tightens a safety rail. He tests the tension with one claw, satisfying himself that it will hold, before picking up a tiny romper that was draped over the side.
The fabric looks absurdly small against his palm. He smells faintly of detergent and the sharp, clean scent of ozone that always clings to his skin.
I lean against the counter, memorizing the curve of his jaw, the way his shoulders flex under his shirt. He turns, catching my eye.
“Hey,” he says, voice low. Barely a question.
I arch an eyebrow. “Hey.”
He steps closer, holding up the little shirt. “This one’s yours, right? I thought the buttons matched your eyes.”
I flush. “You think about these things, huh?”
He shrugs, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “When I see him, I try to imagine the life he’ll have. What he’ll wear. Who he’ll become.”
My heart staggers. I swallow. I realize—this is love reassembling itself around us, quiet but relentless.
He hums suddenly. A faint melody. Off-key, a little rough. I hear it before I see it: he’s singing to Vex. The baby fusses, stuffy, then settles, lulled by the rumble of his chest. I blink. He doesn’t notice me watching him, watching the miracle he carries.
I catch myself smiling again. Head spinning. I’m falling—all over again. But it terrifies me.
Because there’s a weight in the silence. The world outside hasn’t stopped turning just because we found our orbit.
Suddenly, the front door chimes.
Not a knock. The electronic chirp of the mag-lock disengaging.
My smile vanishes. We locked that door.
Takhiss stiffens, spinning toward the entryway, placing himself between the crib and the hall. Vex stirs.
Autrua steps in.
Poised. Sharp. Diplomacy in a dress. Her robes billow, edged in gold, and her heels click on the floor with military precision. She smells of old incense and ambition. She didn’t break in; she simply overrode the system like she owns the grid.
