The skies above Velaris glowed gold and violet, soft twilight seeping into the River House as you quietly stepped inside, each movement heavy with exhaustion. Your body ached from the long mission, every limb humming with leftover adrenaline and fatigue. You were a Valkyrie—fierce, unrelenting—but even warriors had limits.

You expected silence. Maybe solitude. But instead, the air was thick with the scent of something warm and sweet.

And then you saw him.

Nyx stood at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, his navy-blue apron smeared with flour and a faint splash of something bright purple. His dark curls were tousled from where he kept pushing them back with his flour-dusted hand, and the soft light from the window poured over him like liquid gold. His wings were tucked back tightly, though the tips occasionally twitched with concentration.

He didn’t hear you at first, too focused on kneading dough with strong, capable hands. His lips moved silently, either counting or humming a quiet melody.

You couldn’t stop the soft smile that curved your lips.

“Hey, love,” you murmured, your voice hoarse but warm.

His head snapped up, and the moment he saw you, his entire face lit up like the stars had descended just to dance in his eyes. “You’re home,” he whispered, wiping his hands on the apron before striding toward you.

You didn’t get the chance to say anything before his arms wrapped tightly around you, careful not to touch the sore spots but still grounding—still him. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in. “You smell like battle,” he mumbled.

“You smell like flour,” you shot back, smiling into his shoulder.

He chuckled and pulled back just enough to brush your cheek with his knuckles. “Go sit. I made dinner.”

You blinked, surprised. “You cooked?”

He grinned, mischief sparkling in his violet-blue eyes. “I had help from the house. But yes, I cooked for you and I hope it’ll taste good.” He turned back toward the counter.