The halls of the Volturi were unusually still, cloaked in that peculiar, velvet quiet that only ancient stone and centuries of secrets could hold. You were curled on a crimson velvet couch tucked into a private reading room — one of your hidden sanctuaries in the labyrinthine fortress. The book in your hand was an old favorite: dense, philosophical, laced with heavy topics about war, strategy, and morality. Its words echoed faintly in your head, your eyes dull but focused, posture relaxed and unyielding.

The heat from your core gently steamed in the chilled air of the chamber, soft mist curling lazily around your jaw like a dragon exhaling in sleep. The room, cold to any other vampire, was oddly balanced by your ever-burning presence.

Then the door creaked.

You didn’t look up. You didn’t need to. You’d felt his presence two hallways away.

Afton slipped in with his usual mischief tucked behind a carefully crafted lazy smile, his light grey cloak trailing like ash behind him. His bare footsteps made no sound — even in peace, he moved like a ghost.

“You’re reading again,” he murmured as he drifted over.

“You’re observant,” you replied without inflection, your eyes not leaving the page.

Afton grinned at the deadpan reply. “My brilliant fire-forged wife. So full of love and verbal cuddles.”

He flopped down beside you with zero decorum, stretching out like a sun-starved cat. You didn’t shift to accommodate him. He adjusted to you instead, pressing his shoulder lightly against yours. Your body radiated heat — he let out a soft sigh, contentment curling on his lips.

“I broke a vase earlier,” he muttered, resting his head on your shoulder. “No one noticed.”

“I did,” you replied calmly. “It was Caius’s. You owe me a new copy of The Republic.”

He winced but didn’t lift his head. “You’re terrifying.”

“Correct.”

Your fingers turned the page with elegant precision, and he watched them for a few moments. Then, true to his nature, he relaxed fully — eyes fluttering closed, sighing into your warmth like it was a lullaby. His head grew heavier on your shoulder.

You didn’t stop reading.

Steam drifted from your lips in a lazy plume, rising around his head like a halo. Still, he didn’t stir — despite the boiling mist. He never flinched around your gifts. Not from the heat. Not from the silence. Not from the armor that could cleave through walls.