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His eyes open. “Hey.”

“How long was I out?”

“Four hours. Maybe five.”

“You should have woken me. You need sleep too.”

“I did sleep. A little.” He shifts closer, and I can feel the warmth of him all down my side. “Mostly I just wanted to make sure you were still here. Still real.”

“I’m real.” I take his hand and press it firmer against my stomach. “We both are.”

The baby responds with a lazy roll, moving under his palm like it’s saying hello.

“I’ve been thinking,” Malak says quietly. “About what you said. About learning to be happy. About being a family.”

“And?”

“And I want that. More than I’ve wanted anything in a thousand years.” He props himself up on one elbow so he can look down at me. “But I don’t know how. I’ve spent so long just surviving. Just existing. I don’t know how to build something. How to create instead of just protect.”

“Then we’ll figure it out.” I reach up and touch his face, his jaw rough with stubble he usually keeps glamoured away. “One day at a time. One loaf of bread at a time. One moment at a time.”

“What if I’m bad at it?”

“Then you’ll be bad at it, and we’ll adjust.” I smile up at him. “You were bad at baking too, remember? But you learned. You got better. This is the same thing. Just with higher stakes and less flour.”

He huffs a laugh, and the sound is surprised, like he didn’t expect to find anything funny right now.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, and his expression goes serious again. “When the barrier broke. When I felt the wards shattering. I reached for you through our connection without thinking. I poured everything I had left into keeping you safe. Into shielding you and the baby from the backlash.”

“I know. I felt it.”

“If it hadn’t worked, if the barrier had taken you with it, I would have followed.” His voice drops to barely a whisper. “I would have let the void take me rather than exist without you. I need you to know that. Need you to understand what you mean to me.”

The words settle into my chest, heavy and precious and terrifying.

“Don’t,” I say, and my voice comes out fiercer than I intend. “Don’t say things like that. Don’t even think them. Because if something happens to me, you have to stay. For the baby. For this town. For yourself. You don’t get to give up.”

“Kaia...”

“Promise me.” I grip his hand hard enough that it must hurt. “Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll keep going. You’ll keep protecting. You’ll keep living.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine. Then he nods once, sharp and final. “I promise.”

“Good.” I pull him down and kiss him, hard and desperate, trying to pour every ounce of feeling into the contact. Trying to make him understand that I need him to survive as much as he needs me.

When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.

“We should eat something,” I say, because if I don’t change the subject I’m going to start crying and I don’t have the energy for that right now.

“I’ll make us food.”

“You can’t cook.”

“I can make toast. And eggs. Badly, but edibly.”

I laugh, and it feels good. Normal. Like maybe we really can do this. “Fine. You make terrible eggs and burnt toast, and I’ll pretend it’s delicious.”

“That’s all I ask.”