Behind her, a man stepped onto the porch—tall, silver-haired, with the same amber eyes as his son. He moved with the careful dignity of someone who'd spent a lifetime commanding courtrooms, but his composure cracked the moment Remy looked up.
"Papa." The word came out rough, barely audible, Remy's voice cracking on the single syllable. His shoulders started to shake.
"Son." Henri's voice broke on the word, all his courtroom composure shattering. He crossed the distance in two steps andwrapped his arms around both his wife and his son, his silver head bowing over theirs, his broad shoulders trembling.
I felt Harper's hand find mine, his fingers interlacing with my own. On my other side, Silas had gone very still, his gaze fixed on the reunion with an expression I couldn't quite read—something soft beneath the careful blankness.
A third figure appeared in the doorway behind Remy's parents—younger, taller, with the same golden-brown hair as Remy but cropped short and professional. He hovered uncertainly on the threshold, his face a mask of hope and fear and something that looked a lot like guilt.
Jean-Pierre. The older brother. The one Remy had mentioned in fragments over the past months, always with that complicated mix of love and resentment and longing. Remy's mother noticed him first. She reached back without looking, caught her elder son's hand, and pulled him into the embrace.
For a long moment, the four of them just stood there, tangled together on our porch, years of silence and hurt and healing wrapped up in one fierce embrace. Then Remy's mother pulled back, wiping her eyes with a delicate handkerchief that appeared from nowhere, and turned to look at us with those sharp dark eyes that missed nothing.
"So." Her voice was warm but assessing, the steel beneath the softness immediately apparent. "These are the ones who brought my boy back to life."
I stepped forward before my nerves could stop me, extending my hand. "Mrs. Thibodaux. I'm Artemis. It's nice to finally meet you."
She ignored my hand entirely, pulling me into a hug that smelled like expensive perfume and fresh-baked bread. "None of that 'Mrs. Thibodaux' nonsense, chère. You call me Colette." She pulled back, holding me at arm's length, those dark eyes studying my face with an intensity that reminded me powerfullyof Remy. "You're the one who owns the land? The one who fought off those Crescent Holdings vultures?"
"With a lot of help." I glanced back at my pack—my family. "I couldn't have done any of it alone."
"Hmm." Colette's gaze swept past me to Harper, who had straightened to his full impressive height. "And you must be Harper. Remy says you're steady as a rock and twice as stubborn."
"He's not wrong, ma'am." Harper's voice was respectful but warm as he stepped forward to offer his hand. "It's good to meet you. Remy talks about you constantly."
"Good things, I hope." But warmth softened her features as she shook his hand, then pulled him down into a hug that made his eyes go wide with surprise. "Thank you," she murmured against his chest, too quiet for anyone but us to hear. "For loving him. For staying."
"Always." Harper's voice was rough as he returned the embrace carefully, like he was afraid of breaking something precious. "Always, ma'am."
Her gaze found Silas last, and I saw something flicker across her expression—not fear, exactly, but awareness. She knew what he was. What he'd done. What he was capable of.
Silas met her eyes without flinching, his scarred face carefully neutral, his posture neither aggressive nor submissive. Colette studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, deliberately, she crossed to where he stood and reached up to cup his scarred cheek in her palm.
"My son says you're the one who watches while he sleeps." Her voice was soft, intimate, meant for him alone though we all heard it. "He says you're the one who taught him that strength doesn't have to be loud to be real."
Silas's throat worked, but no sound came out.
"He also says you make the best coffee he's ever tasted and that you let that ridiculous alligator sleep on your feet." Her lips curved into a smile that transformed her whole face. "I think you and I are going to get along just fine."
Something cracked in Silas's careful composure. He didn't cry, but his eyes went bright, and when he spoke, his voice was rougher than I'd ever heard it.
"Thank you, ma'am." The words came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.
"Colette." She patted his cheek firmly, her dark eyes soft with understanding. "And none of that 'ma'am' business. You're family now. That means first names and too much food and unsolicited opinions about everything from your haircut to your love life." She turned to survey all of us, hands planted on her hips like a general surveying her troops. "Speaking of too much food—something smells incredible. Is that my mother's gumbo recipe?"
Remy's laugh was watery but real, relief and joy tangling together in the sound. "I might have made a few adjustments."
"Adjustments." Colette's eyebrows rose dangerously, her spoon pausing mid-stir. "To Mémère's gumbo."
"Improvements, really—" Remy held up his hands defensively, taking a step back from the stove.
"Oh, this I have to taste." She swept past us into the house, already heading for the kitchen, calling observations over her shoulder as she went. "Beautiful windows! Love the bookshelves! Is that real mahogany? Henri, come look at this kitchen, they have a proper stove?—"
Remy's father—Henri, apparently—lingered on the porch, watching his wife disappear into our house with an expression of fond exasperation. Then he turned to his sons, and his face softened into something achingly tender.
"She's been cooking for three days," he said, his Cajun accent thicker than I'd expected from the polished attorney on the phone. "I've got four coolers in the car. She said—and I quote—'Those boys aren't eating properly, I can tell, a mother knows these things.'"
"We literally have a professional-grade kitchen," Remy protested, gesturing wildly toward the house, his earlier terror melting into something lighter. "I've been feeding them, I swear?—"
