“For this. For them. For choosing to stay.”
She shifted Sera to one arm and reached for his hand with the other. “I’d choose you every time.”
His tail coiled around her waist, and he leaned in to kiss her, soft and reverent.
Anya made a noise of disgust. “Gross. There are children present.”
“You’re hardly a child anymore,” Selik said, but he was smiling.
“I’m fourteen. That’s still a child.”
“You’re basically ancient,” Wendy teased. “Practically decrepit.”
Anya threw a wadded-up tissue at her, and Lissanne giggled, and Mikoz demanded another turn holding the baby. The chaos continued, warm and loud and utterly normal, until the midwife returned and shooed everyone out except Selik.
“She needs rest,” the midwife said firmly. “And so does the baby. You can all visit tomorrow.”
There were protests and promises and Anya making her swear to contact her if anything happened, and then they were gone. The room felt almost too quiet in their absence, but Selik helped her settle into the bed, arranging the pillows and making sure she and Sera were comfortable. Then he dimmed the lights and returned to her side.
“Get some sleep,” he said. “I will watch over you both.”
“You need sleep too.”
“I will sleep when you are home safe.”
She wanted to argue, but exhaustion was already pulling at her. She felt him settle beside her, felt his tail wrap around them both, and let herself drift.
Tomorrow they’d go home and introduce Sera to their house, their life, their world. But for now, this moment was enough. This perfect, quiet moment where everything was safe and whole and exactly as it should be.
She closed her eyes and let sleep take her, secure in the knowledge that when she woke, Selik would still be there.
He always was.
Three months later…
The house was quiet.
Selik stood in the doorway of Sera’s room, watching his daughter sleep. She’d thrown off her blanket again, one arm flung above her head, the other clutching the stuffed sea creature Anya had made for her. Her breathing was slow and even, peaceful.
Three months old, and already she ruled the household with an iron fist wrapped in soft green skin. Their perfect daughter.
He crossed the room silently and carefully replaced the blanket. She stirred but didn’t wake, just made a small sound of contentment and settled deeper into sleep. He backed out of the room, pulled the door almost closed, and moved down the hall to Mikoz’s room.
The boy was sprawled across his bed, half on top of his pillows, completely tangled in his sheets. Growing fast—already he’d outgrown two sets of clothes since they’d arrived on this water world. His features were sharpening, becoming more distinctly Cire, though his personality remained uniquely his own. Curious, stubborn, affectionate. His son in every way that mattered.
He adjusted the sheets, picked up the toy boat that had fallen to the floor, and set it on the shelf beside a collection of shells and smooth stones. This room told a story—of beach walks and fishing trips, of building projects and bedtime stories. Of ahappy childhood. Not for the first time he prayed that Mikoz’s birth mother knew how much he was loved.
He left the door open a crack and continued down the hall.
Anya’s room was at the end, her light still on despite the late hour. He knocked softly.
“Come in.”
She was at her desk, hunched over a datapad, her hair pulled back in a messy tail.
“It is late,” he said.
“I know. I’m almost done.” She didn’t look up, still focused on whatever she was reading. “Is Sera asleep?”
