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He belongs exactly where he chooses to belong.

I sit across from him, nursing a glass of the tart red wine. Our eyes meet through the smoke of the fire pit, and he offers a small, private smile—just for me. No smirks. No dangerous challenges.

I feel a furious blush rise to my cheeks, and I take a long sip of my wine to hide it.

When the plates are cleared and the locals break into a boisterous folk song, I lean toward my parents.

“Walk with me,” I request, keeping my voice low.

We slip away from the firelight, walking down the shoreline where the waves lap gently against the pebbles.

I stop and turn to face them. “You need to pack whatever you can carry. The ship has a cargo hold. It will be cramped, but we can make the flight back to London in less than an hour.”

My father frowns, exchanging a long look with my mother. “London, Maggie?”

“I command the British Isles from a garrison beneath Hampton Court,” I explain, the authority bleeding back into my posture. “We have reinforced concrete, drone turrets, and a secure supply chain. You don’t have to live off the grid anymore. You’ll be safe with me.”

My mother reaches out, her warm hands cupping my face. Her thumbs brush over my cheekbones. “Oh, my fierce, brilliant girl.”

“Mum, I’m serious. The Avaren are helping us clear the Isles—the planet—but the war isn’t over. You are exposed here.”

“We are alive here, Maggie,” my father counters gently. He sweeps his arm toward the glowing fire pits, the laughter echoing over the water. “These people are our family now. We rebuilt the terraces. We fish the cove. If we leave, they lose two pairs of working hands.”

“I can leave a detachment of soldiers,” I bargain, my mind already calculating the logistics. “I can route a supply convoy⁠—”

“Maggie, stop.” My father steps forward, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You don’t need to manage us. You don’t need to fix this.”

“I am responsible for you.” The words tear out of me, jagged, raw. I think of the boat I gave to Duncan Morgan. The boat that was supposed to save them.

“You are responsible for thousands,” my mother corrects, her voice thick with pride. “We heard the shortwave broadcasts. They talked about the woman in charge.”

My father squeezes my shoulder. “We are so incredibly proud of you. But our life is here, in Lukoran. We survived the worst of it. And from the looks of that alien ship on our beach, the worst is finally over.”

He makes a valid, logical point. The Ghorvek are losing ground globally. If Kairen’s fleet continues its systematic eradication, the oceans will become navigable again. The skies will clear.

“If you stay,” I begin, my voice tight with reluctant concession, “I will send a secure communications terminal. You will check in with my bunker every three days.”

“Every Sunday,” my father negotiates smoothly.

“Twice a week, or I abduct you by force.”

He laughs, a booming sound that settles the last of my anxiety. “Deal.”

My mother loops her arm through mine, turning us back toward the distant firelight. We walk slowly along the shoreline. In the distance, Orien stands up from the table, retrieving a fresh bottle of wine for the fishermen. The fire catches the amber light in his eyes and the molten-orange veins along his neck.

“He is quite striking,” my mother murmurs, her tone far too casual.

I stiffen. “He is an intelligence officer. A tactical asset.”

“Mmhmm.” My mother pats my arm. “A tactical asset who hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you stepped off that ramp.”

I open my mouth to deliver a deadpan deflection, but she cuts me off before I can form the words.

“I like the way your alien looks at you, Margaret.” She smiles, a knowing, entirely maternal expression. “He looks at you like you are the only person on this planet.”

A traitorous heat explodes across my cheeks. I don’t bother reaching for my compact. I don’t bother constructing a denial. I just look down at the waves, my heart hammering against my ribs.

We reach the edge of the firelight.