Zuan was quieter now.

Not silent—never that. The Lanes always hummed with life, whether it was a child chasing a wind-blown scrap of fabric or the distant rhythm of a tinker hammering on salvaged metal. But since the unrest had calmed, peace had crept in slowly, like morning fog over the canals.

You stood behind the counter of the bar, wiping down a glass with practiced ease. It was early still, the kind of hour where regulars hadn’t shuffled in yet and the scent of last night’s ale still lingered. Your shoulders relaxed in the quiet. You liked this time of day. It was just you, the bar, and the low thrum of life beginning again.

And Vander.

You caught a glimpse of him before he entered—broad shoulders silhouetted in the doorway, hair tied back loosely, beard catching the light like embers. He moved slower these days. Not out of weakness, no—just… intention. Like each step had meaning. Like he’d decided he wasn’t running from anything anymore.

He pushed open the door with a groan of old hinges, and the scent of smoke and iron followed him in.

“Morning,” you greeted softly, placing the glass down.

“Morning, love,” Vander rumbled, voice still rough with sleep. He leaned over the bar and kissed your cheek—scratch of beard, warmth of lips, smell of coal and leather. Familiar. Grounding.

You poured his usual—dark roast, strong, no sugar—and passed it to him in silence. He took a sip, sighed, and leaned his elbows on the wood.

“Kids’re still asleep,” he murmured. “For once.”

“Miracle,” you teased, and he huffed a laugh. “You have plans today?”

Vander shook his head. “Nothing urgent. Thought I’d fix the hinge on the back gate, maybe help Claggor with that busted vent. You?”

“Inventory, cleaning, and dodging Milo if he tries to flirt for free drinks.”

Another laugh, this one deeper. “I’ll scare him off if you like.”

“Nah. I like watching him try.”

You leaned into each other naturally, shoulders brushing, not needing to speak. There wasn’t always need for words between you. You’d come into Vander’s orbit during the hardest part of his life, just after the bridge, just after he’d buried too many. You hadn’t tried to fix him. Just offered him a stool, a drink, a quiet ear. Over time, that became friendship. And then—something more.

He didn’t fall fast. He didn’t know how. But he fell hard.

And now?

Now he cooked breakfast for you and the kids more often than not. He called you “love” like it was your name. He held you at night like you were the anchor keeping him from drifting off the edge of the world.

“You thinking too loud again,” he said, bumping your shoulder.

You shrugged. “Just… liking this. You. Here.”

His expression softened. “I’ll always be here.”

“I know. It’s just… I didn’t think I’d get this. Y’know? Peace. Love. A home.”

Vander turned toward you fully, the bar between you forgotten. He reached out and brushed a hand along your cheek, calloused fingers gentle against your skin.

“You deserve all that and more, Alky,” he said. “And I’m damn lucky to be the one givin’ it to you.”

You felt your throat tighten, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you reached up, catching his hand in yours and pressing your lips to his knuckles.

“I love you, Vander.”

His smile was slow, a little crooked. “I know. And I love you more than I know how to say.”

The moment stretched—not dramatic, not loud. Just full. Full of warmth and comfort and everything you thought you’d never have in a place like this.

Outside, the sun rose higher, casting golden light through the bar’s cracked windows. Voices stirred beyond the door—Powder’s laughter, Vi’s bickering. Life, always in motion.

But inside, wrapped in the quiet weight of his gaze and the steady pulse of your joined hands, you felt something rare.

Safe. Wanted. Home.