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The question surprises him. I see it in the slight widening of his eyes before his expression softens.

“I’m very happy,” he tells her.

Ivy studies him. “You don't look happy.”

A startled laugh escapes me.

Alexei exhales through his nose. “That’s because I’m thinking about all the ways to keep the three of you safe.”

“Me, Maggie, and the baby?”

“Yes.”

Ivy considers that. Then she climbs off my lap and crawls onto the sofa beside him. Alexei wraps an arm around her.

“You're gonna be okay, Papa,” she says, patting his cheek.

Something in Alexei's face changes. “Yes,” he says. “Because I have all of you.”

I have to look away before the tears burning my eyes become obvious.

“The baby can share my crayons,” Ivy informs him seriously, “but not the glitter ones unless I say.”

Alexei smiles. “That seems fair.”

“And Maggie stays with us.”

His eyes meet mine, and something tender passes between us.

“Yes,” he says. “Maggie stays.”

14

ALEXEI

I wake before dawn, as I always do. For several heartbeats, I remain still, staring at the ceiling while rain taps against the windows. The mansion is silent. No footsteps move through the corridor outside our room. No voices carry up from the kitchen below. The house still sleeps.

Maggie is asleep beside me. I turn toward her before I can stop myself. She’s lying on her side beneath the comforter, one hand tucked under her cheek, and her brown hair spread across the pillow in unruly waves. During the past week, color has returned to her face. The bruising on her shoulder has faded to faint traces beneath her skin, and the cough that lingered after the fire no longer wakes her during the night. But she still reaches for me in her sleep.

Last night, she wrapped herself around me sometime after midnight, pressing close without ever opening her eyes. I haven’t slept alone since the night of the fire. At some point, this became normal.

A few months ago, this room was simply where I slept. I woke before dawn, trained, worked, and returned home to an empty bed and a house that always felt too large for just Ivy and me. Now there’s Maggie. There’s Ivy racing through the halls with Winston trotting behind her. There are coloring books on the coffee table, Daisy asleep on a sun puddle, and half-finished cups of tea appearing in every room Maggie occupies.

There’s also a child growing beneath Maggie's heart. My child.

I’m still getting used to that. I’ve spent most of my life preparing for threats, wars, negotiations, betrayals, and bloodshed. None of that prepared me for another life that depends upon me in a way entirely different from Ivy. And it didn’t prepare me for loving Maggie.

I brush several strands of hair from her face. She sighs softly and turns into my pillow. I find myself smiling. Then I leave the bed before she wakes and begins arguing that she’s well enough to return to full duty at the shelter.

By seven o’clock, Mrs. Bennett moves through the kitchen carrying platters laden with scrambled eggs, biscuits, bacon, fruit, and enough food to feed an army. The scent of coffee fills the room. Sunlight streams through tall windows overlooking the gardens.

Roman sits at the head of the table, reading messages on his phone.

Luka stands near the windows, speaking into an earpiece.

Maggie enters moments later wearing jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt with the shelter logo across the front. She still looks tired. The past week has left its mark on all of us. Yet there is strength in the way she moves, and determination in the lift of her chin.

I rise from my chair before I think better of it.