And I don’t move.
I stay perfectly still, breathing shallow so I don’t shift him. Caelix. That’s his name. Hers. Theirs. Ours? I don’t know. Not yet. But his breath ghosts over my throat like he owns the right to sleep there.
He grumbles once, then sighs—a full-body exhale like he’s punching sleep in the face and winning. His tiny fingers twitch against my collarbone.
I’m seven feet of trained killer with bones like durasteel and a spine that’s been cracked twice in combat.
But this kid?
He could break me with a giggle.
And he doesn’t even know it.
His golden eyes peek open for a heartbeat. He stares up at me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Hey,” I whisper, afraid if I speak too loud, he’ll vanish.
He doesn’t speak, obviously. Too young. But he makes a sound. Soft. Familiar.
A sound I’ve heard once before.
Dada.
It’s not clear. Not precise. But it’sthere.
He says it with a little smirk. And a slap of one palm against my jaw like it’s a button he’s pressing.
“Yeah, alright,” I mutter, half-smile tugging at my mouth. “We’ll table that.”
I want to ask.
Desperately.
But I don’t.
Not because I don’t care.
Because I do.
Becausegods,I do.
But asking means pressing a bruise we’re both pretending doesn’t hurt anymore. It means risking the firstrealpeace we’ve had in weeks. Maybe months.
So I tuck the question back into my chest and let him thump his tiny fists on me like I’m just furniture.
Alaina’s watching.
I feel her in the kitchen doorway, holding her mug like it’s a ward against feeling too much.
Her eyes track him, not me.
Then me.
Then both of us, like she’s doing math she doesn’t want to say out loud.
“You’re good with him,” she says, finally.
My voice is rougher than usual. “He makes it easy.”
