And something in me… loosens.
The morning sunslants in too sharp through the blinds.
I’m in the kitchen, trying to coax life into my third cup of caff, when I hear the patter of tiny feet.
Caelix’s up.
He toddles in, bedhead wild, dragging his frog plush by one limp leg.
I turn, just as he stumbles toward the living room.
He spots Troka on the couch.
And without hesitation, without a second’s pause?—
He climbs up.
Right onto that mountain of muscle and scars and sleep.
Troka stirs.
Not wakes.
Just shifts enough to accommodate the bundle of toddler determination flopping across his chest.
A thick arm wraps reflexively around Caelix’s tiny body.
And they just… settle.
Perfect.
Natural.
Like gravity.
I cover my mouth with one hand.
The other grips the counter.
Hard.
Because my heart’s doing something painful and beautiful anddangerous.
This—this moment right here—this is the truth.
Not the lie I told him.
Not the silence I thought would protect me.
This is what I’ve been running from.
And it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
CHAPTER 31
TROKA
Iwake to the weight of a child on my chest and the unmistakable scent of warm baby skin and half-dried cereal spit.
