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Not worth it, she’d said.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

It had been worth it. Nobody got to talk about his Lissy like that.

Lissy.

Had he actually called her that? Lissy-Love. To her face?

Oh, yeah. He had.

Ronan pushed himself carefully to his feet, swaying once before he found his balance.

“All right,” he muttered. “Let’s go face the music.”

And probably a lecture.

He angled toward the door, then paused, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Bathroom first.

Definitely bathroom first.

The smells hit him the moment he exited the bathroom.

Coffee. Toast.

Ronan paused in the hallway, one hand braced on the wall as his head gave a warning throb. The light was still too bright, the world still a little unsteady. He dragged himself toward the kitchen.

Felicity stood at the stove, back to him, moving with efficient precision — scrambled eggs in the pan, toast already stacked on a plate, a glass of some pale yellow liquid sitting beside a bottle of water and a packet of aspirin.

He leaned his shoulder against the doorway. “You poisoning me, Deputy?”

She didn’t turn. “Don’t tempt me.”

Fair.

He stepped forward—

Something small and fast barreled into his legs.

Ronan staggered, catching himself on the counter as the dog tore past him in a blur, nails skidding on the floor. “Fuck.”

“Stoyat!” The command ripped through the kitchen — sharp, precise.

The dog froze mid-skid.

Ronan blinked, watching Maggie slink off and curl up with her sisters where they lay in the patch of morning sun filtering through the open kitchen door. “You spoke Russian.”

Felicity lifted one shoulder, turning back to the stove. “Figured Galina spoke Russian to them. It works.”

He studied her for a beat, then pushed off the counter and made his way to the table, lowering himself into the chair with a quiet grunt.

“Eat,” she ordered, sliding the plate in front of him. Eggs. Toast.

He ate. Because his body demanded it, if nothing else.

The first bite hit his system like a lifeline.