You and Nyx had been together for what felt like lifetimes — bound by the kind of love that only the stars dared to envy. Ten months ago, that love took shape in the form of your daughter, Isla, who had his night-kissed eyes and your fierce, unyielding fire.

You’d just returned from a long walk with Elain, the two of you strolling through the gardens while your daughters napped — hers a few months younger than Isla, with her father’s shadows already coiling protectively around her even in her dreams. The conversation had drifted from sleepless nights to the bizarre things you both found yourself humming to lull your babies back to sleep, to the soft pride in your voices when you spoke about your mates.

There was something grounding about talking with Elain like this — like despite the chaos of your world, some pieces still fit perfectly.

But the moment you step back into the quiet of your home, something tugs at your chest.

No sounds of Isla babbling. No trace of Nyx’s presence. The fireplace crackles softly in the main room, a gentle heat wrapping around the space, but your little family is nowhere in sight.

Your brow furrows.

“Nyx?” you call softly, just in case they’re napping.

No response.

Your steps are light but swift as you climb the stairs, that small, motherly panic sparking even when you know deep down they’re probably just fine.

And then you stop in the doorway of your bedroom.

Everything inside you melts.

Nyx is shirtless, the muscles of his back catching the golden light pouring in through the window. He’s sitting at the edge of your bed, and nestled against his chest, wrapped snugly in a small towel, is Isla. Her tiny head rests right over his heart, dark curls damp and wild, her little hand curled around his pinky.

He doesn’t notice you at first.

He’s too focused on her. Humming something low and sweet — you recognize the melody, a song he sings to her when she wakes in the middle of the night. His wings are half-spread behind him, shielding her from the world like they always do.

Your throat tightens with the kind of ache that only love can bring.

You lean against the doorway, heart thudding.