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The heavy doors to the infirmary slide open.

Kairen strides into the room with Tara tucked securely against his side. The Crown Prince of Avaris radiates a far more settled energy today. The purple lines along his jaw pulse with a calm, steady rhythm.

Tara breaks away from her alien prince and throws her arms around my neck.

I return the embrace, letting my hands rest against her back. The physical contact no longer triggers my defensive instincts.

Tara pulls back, her brown eyes shining. “I heard what happened. You stabbed her.”

“I merely created a distraction until the spymaster breached the door.” I shrug.

“Does this mean you’ll extend your stay on Avaris?” Tara gestures around the pristine, luminous infirmary. “It is much safer here. You could stay through the rest of the pregnancy.”

I picture the crystal spires and the bioluminescent forests. It represents peace. It represents a sanctuary.

I shake my head.

“My people are still fighting.” I meet Kairen’s gaze, offering the fleet commander a nod of respect. “I need to ensure my island is secure and the rebuilding is underway before I become a giant, waddling incubator.”

Tara laughs, a bright, joyous sound. “We get to be giant, waddling incubators together. I cannot wait for the babies to meet. We have so much to plan.”

I force a polite smile.

I need to learn how to be more… sociable. I add the objective to my mental roster of tactical goals. I must build the endurance to tolerate hours of conversation regarding whatever the Avaren version of diapers entails.

Orien slides his large hand around the curve of my waist. The heat of his palm seeps through my blouse.

I lean into his side.

The war is not over, but for the first time since the sky caught fire, I possess a future worth fighting for.

London smells of wet concrete and fresh rain. The suffocating smell of ash is gone.

I stand in the outer courtyard of Hampton Court Palace. Above us, the heavy gray clouds part, allowing a rare shaft of sunlight to strike the ancient stone walls.

The courtyard resembles an industrial shipyard. Avaren engineers in dark armor operate humming plasma cutters, slicing through ruined masonry. They weld shimmering, transparent energy shields directly into the palace foundations, blending alien technology with human architecture.

Quartermaster Higgins stands near a pallet of steel beams. He points a clipboard at a towering Avaren warrior.

“I need those supports moved to the eastern gate!” Higgins barks.

Jorik, a warrior who could snap Higgins over his knee without breaking a sweat, merely nods. He hoists a massive steel beam onto his shoulder and hauls it across the courtyard.

I watch the seamless integration of our forces. Kairen kept his promise. The Avaren battalion dropped into the British Isles and shattered the Ghorvek siege. My human soldiers hold the line alongside near-immortal warriors. We push the swarm back, block by block, reclaiming the city from the monsters.

A quiet, mechanical whir draws my attention.

Trevor rolls past my boots. The battered explosive disposal drone glides over the cracked pavement. The machine pauses, rotates its sensor array toward me, and continues its perimeter sweep.

Orien steps up beside me. He wears his form-fitting alien weave, the glowing orange lines of his neck exposed to the crisp London air.

“Your quartermaster is remarkably demanding,” Orien notes, his voice a low rumble.

“Higgins requires order.” I cross my arms over my chest, watching the shield generators power up along the wall. “And your warriors require direction. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Orien wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls my back against his solid chest. I no longer stiffen. I melt against him, letting his body heat ward off the damp chill of the courtyard.

“We are winning, Maggie.”