The sun had barely risen over Velaris, casting a soft peach glow over the city when the knock came.

You were curled into Nyx’s side on the couch, your newborn daughter nestled between you, asleep against your chest. Nyx didn’t move for a long moment, content to just watch the rise and fall of her tiny chest, her fingers twitching with dreams. Then the knock came again—softer this time, but unmistakable.

A heartbeat later, the door eased open.

“Is it—?” Feyre’s voice broke off as she stepped inside, Rhysand just behind her. Both of them stopped, their eyes landing on the bundle in your arms.

Rhys’s expression crumpled with emotion he didn’t bother to hide. “Cauldron,” he whispered, taking a slow step forward.

Nyx stood, careful and proud, and placed the baby gently into his mother’s waiting arms. Feyre took her granddaughter like she was made of starlight and silk, tears already slipping down her cheeks.

“She’s perfect,” Feyre whispered, her voice shaking. “She’s so small.”

“She’ll be a terror like her mother,” Rhys said, though his eyes were shimmering with pride, and he wrapped an arm around Feyre. “And a dreamer like her father.”

You laughed softly, “She already kicks like a general.”

Feyre chuckled, bouncing her gently. “I can’t believe our baby has a baby.”

Nyx’s hand found yours, squeezing gently as he watched his parents—the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court—melt into nothing more than adoring grandparents before your eyes.

“She’ll be loved,” you murmured.

Nyx pressed his lips to your hair. “Beyond anything.”