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I change her protocols and tighten her security. No runs outside the gym, no trips near the front gate. Nothing that puts her in view of the road or the world beyond these walls.

And I don’t tell her why.

That omission sits like a stone in my chest, but I carry it anyway. Because telling her why means telling her what I left out. How close the danger is.

Her own name in the mouth of men who peel flesh from bone to get what they want. I swore I’d give her the truth, and I meant it.

But this truth—this truth could sign her death warrant if it so much as touches her thoughts. I can’t square that with keeping my promise, not when I’m still struggling to voice it even inside my own head.

I go searching for her that night, a tightness in my chest that won’t ease until I see her, until I know she’s safe. I’m half-convinced I can give her a piece of the truth. Not all of it, but something. Enough that the extra security measures don’t leave her restless and questioning in the dark.

Her room is empty. For a moment, my heart seizes, a cold fist clenching around it. I check the gym next, then the library, the kitchen, the places she frequents. With each empty room, panic starts to claw at the edges of my control, icy tendrils of dread curling in my gut.

Then it hits me. Seraphina. Of course she’s with Seraphina.

I head for the nursery, my pace quickening with each step. As I draw closer, I hear it—the soft, melodic murmur of Katerina’s voice. Relief crashes over me like a wave. I approach silently, easing the door open just a crack. The scene that greets me steals the breath from my lungs.

Katerina, curled in the rocking chair by the window, haloed by the soft golden glow of the lamp. She’s beautiful like this, her wavy hair tumbling over her shoulders, her face soft and serene.

Seraphina is nestled in her arms, wearing pale yellow footed pajamas dotted with tiny white stars.

The toddler is fighting sleep, her riotous dark curls mussed, her eyes heavy-lidded. But she clings to Katerina, one small hand fisted in the fabric of her shirt, as if she can anchor herself to this moment through sheer stubborn will.

And Katerina reads to her, her voice a soothing lullaby in the quiet room.

“Goodnight room, goodnight moon. Goodnight cow jumping over the moon…”

It’s a scene of such perfect, innocent peace that it makes something ache deep in my chest.

Seraphina gazes up at Katerina, adoration shining in her sleepy eyes, like Katerina is the center of her entire universe. And Katerina looks back at her with so much tender affection that it takes my breath away.

I stand there in the hallway, one hand raised to knock, to push open the door and step into that achingly domestic tableau. But I can’t make myself do it. I can’t walk into that sanctuary and shatter their peace with the cruel edges of my world. I can’t taint that perfect, fragile moment with blood and threats and the gut-wrenching knowledge of how much I stand to lose.

The words to tell her, to explain any of it, are trapped in my throat, jagged shards of truth that I can’t give voice to. Not without watching them cut her to the bone.

So I don’t. I let my hand fall back to my side, a leaden weight. I turn and walk away, every step an act of will. Back to my study, back to the maps and the messages and the terrible, creeping certainty that no matter what I do, I can’t keep this darkness from touching them forever.

I promised Katerina honesty. I swore to her that I would tell her the truth.

But right now, watching her cradle Seraphina, seeing the love that shines so clear and bright between them, I’m a coward. A goddamn coward, because I can’t bring myself to cast a shadow over that light. Not tonight.

Maybe not ever, if it means keeping them safe. Keeping them whole.

Even if it means shattering every vow I’ve ever made to the woman I love.

15

KATERINA

I’m exhausted.

It’s a bone-deep weariness that has settled into every cell of my body, weighing me down like lead.

And it’s not just physical, though the nausea and the hormones certainly aren’t helping. No, this is an emotional exhaustion, the kind that comes from carrying a secret that feels too big for your own skin.

It’s been less than a day since I found out, since those two little lines turned my world upside down.

Less than a day and already I feel like I’m drowning under the weight of it.