You point pointedly at your black eye, which was inflicted by an enemy guard, pouting slightly.

Viole rolls her eyes and nods, fine, before placing a chaste kiss on your hairline and another on the aforementioned black eye.

Be more careful next time. Bam strokes your sore knuckles with a gentleness not usually associated with brothers.

It’s something you find unbelievable sometimes, the way the twins can be ruthless when they want to be and yet so gentle when it comes down to it.

You close your eyes, savoring the combined warmth, and whisper, “They know not to mess with us now.”

One of the twins—you’re not sure who—answers, No. This time, they know not to mess with you.