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Malak sets down his mug with careful control. “And us?”

“You saved the town. Both of you.” Mrs. Chen’s hand lands on my shoulder, warm and steady. “The council votes to extend full protection to your family. You’re under the Old Laws now. Official.”

The baby kicks, strong and insistent, like it’s celebrating.

Mrs. Chen feels it. Her hand is still on my shoulder, and she smiles. “That child is going to be something special. More powerful than anything we’ve seen in generations.” She looks at Malak. “You’ll both need to teach it control. Discipline. The magic it carries could reshape this town if left unchecked.”

“We know,” Malak says quietly.

“Good.” She picks up her own mug and moves toward the door. “Get some rest. Both of you. The bakery can stay closed today. No one will complain.”

Then she’s gone, and the door closes behind her with a soft chime that sounds too cheerful for how exhausted I feel.

Malak and I stand there in the kitchen, covered in mud and dried ichor, tea going cold in our hands.

“We should clean up,” I say.

“Yes.”

Neither of us moves.

The silence stretches. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy with everything we survived, everything we almost lost.

“I saw your true form,” I say finally. “At the breach. All of it.”

His shoulders tense. “Yes.”

“You were beautiful.”

He looks at me like I’ve spoken a language he doesn’t understand. “I was a monster. Twenty feet of shadow and claws and...”

“And you were beautiful.” I set down my mug and cross to him, close enough to touch but not touching yet. “Terrifying, yes. Powerful, absolutely. But beautiful. Like watching a storm break over the ocean. Like something ancient and wild and right.”

His hands clench at his sides. “Most people run when they see what I really am.”

“I’m not most people.” I reach up and touch his face, my muddy fingers leaving streaks on his skin. “And you’re not just a monster. You’re a guardian. You’re the father of my child. You’re the man who taught himself to bake bread even though it went against every instinct you have, because you wanted to help me.”

“Kaia...”

“I love you.” The words come out steady, certain. No hesitation. “Not despite what you are. Because of it. All of it. The darkness and the claws and the void-magic. I love you.”

The silence that follows is absolute.

Then Malak’s arms are around me, pulling me close, his face buried in my hair. His whole body is shaking, and I realize with a start that he’s crying. Not loud, not dramatic, just these quiet, hitching breaths that sound like they’re being torn out of him.

“I was so afraid,” he whispers against my hair. “When the barrier broke. When you drove toward the breach. I thought I was going to watch you die and there would be nothing I could do to stop it.”

“But I didn’t die.”

“But you could have. You and the baby both. And I would have been left here alone again. For another thousand years. Another eternity.” His voice cracks. “I don’t think I could survive that. Not after knowing what it feels like to have a family.”

I pull back just enough to see his face. His eyes are red-rimmed, his glamour slipping at the edges to show hints of shadow beneath. He looks wrecked. Vulnerable. Human in ways he usually doesn’t allow himself to be.

“You don’t have to survive it,” I tell him. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Neither is this baby. We’re here. We’re staying. And you’re stuck with us.”

“Stuck with you,” he repeats, and something that might be a laugh catches in his throat. “That’s the best thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Even better than ‘your croissants are getting less brick-like’?”