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“My mother was.”

“Was,” she breathes. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

This girl… she says all the right things at the right times; she’s soft when she needs to be, and tough because the world made her so.

She’s niggling into my brain, and I don’t like it.

“Thank you.”

Silence falls over us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind you sometimes need to bathe in to feel grounded again. I have the distinct feeling that nothing with Sera could ever feel uncomfortable.

“I don’t have parents alive, either,” she says in an odd way that makes my brow perk.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You shouldn’t be. They’re the reason for my nightmares.”

I swallow, my fist clenching at my side as if I’m going to leap from the car and defend her by digging up her dead parents and beating their corpses.

“I’m still sorry you endured that. No one should. Lucien had similar… That’s his story to tell. I don’t want to overstep.”

She looks interested for a moment, and I worry I’ve said too much. Still, she drops it, settling back into the seat, her hand sliding inside my thigh as she tucks into my arm, her eyes growing heavy under the influence of whiskey. “You smell so good.”

I smirk, but keep a laugh from escaping.

I lift my arm and pull her closer, giving her more room to settle in.

Long before we’re home, Seraphine is sleeping soundlessly, no nightmares in sight. I hate it’s because she’s drunk off her ass.

I’d love to think it’s my presence driving whatever horrors she endures away, but I’m not naïve.

I text Kyrin to help me get her inside, and he’s waiting on the snow-covered steps of the estate when we pull in the rounded drive.

“Of course you’re in the back seat,” he says, shaking his head as we try to get her into one of our arms without waking her and fail.

“Sera? I need you to walk, baby girl,” Kyrin says, and something about it has me watching him with rapt fascination.

It’s not jealousy; the three of us have shared it before. It’s… happiness.

I can’t let hope grow too wild in my chest, though.

It’ll kill the half of me this house hasn’t already.

“Hm?” Her mumbles are adorable, but I’m growing increasingly worried we won’t get her into the house when Lucien walks down the stairs.

We’ve gotten her to the door, and she’s sitting on the floor, her legs dangling out into the cold.

“Oh, calamity. Look at you.” He smiles, and it shocks me. My gaze flicks up to Kyrin, who’s likewise staring at Lucien with his mouth hanging open. “Stand for me.”

She listens, then stands and grins up at him, eyes closed.

I’ve never seen him approach anyone from the front where they could possibly see him.

Not since the fire.

Not since our entire world upended.

“There we are. Let’s get you to bed,” he coos, carrying her inside.