I handed him the cards. He shuffled slowly, methodically, like he was field-stripping a weapon—each movement precise, deliberate, intentional. His pale eyes went distant, focused on something internal, and I could see the questions churning behind them.
When he handed the deck back, his fingers trembled almost imperceptibly.
I pulled three cards.
The Tower.
Silas went very still, his face draining of color, his breath stopping in his chest, every muscle in his body locking tight.
"Past," I said quickly, holding up a hand, my voice firm and steady. "This is your past, Silas. The destruction already happened. This isn't a prediction—it's an acknowledgment. Whatever fell apart, whatever burned down—it's already done."
He exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly, some of the tension bleeding from his frame. "My unit," he said, his voice barely audible, rough with old grief. "They were my tower. When I lost them?—"
"Everything crumbled," I finished softly, my heart aching for him, my own eyes stinging. "I know. I'm sorry."
He shook his head, a sharp motion, his jaw tight, his pale eyes hardening with resolve. "What's next?" he asked, his voice clipped.
I turned the second card.
The Star.
Something eased in my chest, relief flooding through me, warmth spreading from my heart outward.
"Present," I said, unable to keep the smile from my voice. "Hope. Healing. Renewal. After the Tower falls, the Star rises. You're rebuilding, Silas. Not the same tower—something new. Something different." I tapped the card with one finger. "This is about finding peace after trauma. About learning to believe in good things again."
His pale eyes were fixed on the card, something raw and wounded moving behind them. "I'm trying," he said, his voice cracking slightly, his scarred hands clenching on his thighs. "It's harder than I thought."
"Healing always is," I agreed, reaching for the third card, my fingers hovering over it. "But you're not doing it alone anymore."
I turned it over.
The World.
For a long moment, I just stared at it—the dancing figure, the wreath of completion, the symbols of achievement and wholeness.
"Future," I breathed, feeling the truth of it settle into my bones like coming home. "Completion. Integration. Belonging. This is the last card of the major arcana, Silas. It's about reaching the end of a journey and finding that you're exactly where you're supposed to be." I looked up at him, tears pricking at my eyes, my voice trembling with emotion. "You're going to find your place. Here. With us. You're going to be whole again."
Silas stared at the card for a long, long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw and broken and beautiful.
"I want that," he admitted, the words seeming to cost him everything, his pale eyes glistening. "I want it so much it terrifies me."
"Good things usually do," I said, standing and moving around the table to wrap my arms around him, pulling his headagainst my chest, feeling his scarred hands come up to grip my waist like I was the only solid thing in a shifting world. "But you don't have to be afraid anymore. You're home."
He shuddered against me—one full-body tremor that might have been a sob—and held on.
Later, when the cards were put away and the table cleared, we ended up back in the nest. Another pack pile—this time intentional, deliberate, everyone arranging themselves with care. Harper at my back again, his steady heartbeat against my spine. Remy at my front, his golden head tucked under my chin. Silas between us, his scarred hand over my heart, his breathing slow and even.
"So," Remy said into the comfortable silence, his voice sleepy and content, his breath warm against my collarbone, "you learn anything interesting about us from your mysterious cards?"
"I learned that I'm surrounded by emotionally constipated Alphas with tragic backstories and hearts of gold," I said dryly, scratching my fingers through his curls, feeling him practically purr against me. "Shocking revelation, really."
Harper snorted against my shoulder, his chest vibrating with suppressed laughter, his arm tightening around my waist. Even Silas made a sound that might have been amusement, his lips twitching against my sternum.
"Emotionally constipated," Remy repeated, his voice heavy with mock offense, his amber eyes opening to give me a wounded look. "I am a delight. A ray of sunshine. Ask anyone."
"You're something," Silas muttered, but there was no bite in it, his pale eyes soft with something that looked dangerously like affection.
"A delight," Remy insisted, yawning widely, his jaw cracking with the force of it, his eyes drifting closed again. "Absolute delight."
