Troy wasn’t used to being ignored.

She was 7'4" of muscle, horns, and quiet menace, a towering wall of power carved by war. Her golden eyes could make a man’s heart stop mid-beat; her shoulders carried the weight of battles fought and won. She’d crushed armies, silenced battlefields, and made veteran warriors surrender with nothing more than a tilt of her head.

And yet, somehow… here she was. Utterly, thoroughly ignored.

By someone smaller than a backpack.

The baby — her baby — hadn’t acknowledged her once. Not in three days.

Worse, her partner barely had time for her either. That wasn’t fair, Troy knew that. Her partner tried — fleeting touches, soft kisses brushed against her jaw in passing, quiet love yous murmured before collapsing into dreamless sleep. But Troy had gone from the center of her universe to something orbiting far, far away. Watching. Waiting. Uninvited.

And she hated how much it stung.

This morning, she’d stood in the doorway, shoulders brushing either side of the frame, watching her partner pace across the living room. The baby was nestled tight against her chest, four tiny arms tucked close, two under his chin and two fisting her shirt in an unyielding grip. His hooved feet kicked in restless bursts, but his tiny face remained fixed in a permanent scowl — brows furrowed, nose wrinkled, lips pursed. Like he’d arrived in this world already disappointed in it.

Just like his mother.

Troy was halfway through pouring herself water when her partner’s voice broke the quiet.

“You haven’t held him yet.”

Troy’s ears twitched. “…You’ve barely let him go.”

A pause. Then came the sigh — quiet, weary, and heavier than armor. “Troy… I know this is strange for you. I know he’s… a lot. But you’re not even trying.”

Troy didn’t answer.

Her partner turned fully now, shadows beneath her tired eyes making something in Troy’s chest twist painfully. “Do you not want to know him?” she asked softly. “Because right now, I’m doing this alone. And it wasn’t supposed to be that way.”

The words hit harder than any blade she’d ever taken.

“Of course I want to know him,” Troy said at last, voice quieter than she liked.

“Then act like it.”

Troy hesitated. “…He hates me.”

“He’s three days old.”

“He glares.”

Her partner raised a brow. “Wonder where he gets that from.”

Troy looked at the baby again — just in time to catch his little face scrunching into a perfect scowl. He wrinkled his nose. Snorted. Actually snorted at her, like she was a joke he’d already heard before.

“He does that every time I’m near,” Troy muttered.

“Good,” her partner said, stepping forward, “then hold him and let him judge you up close.”

Troy stiffened as the baby was placed carefully into her upper arms. She didn’t mean to flinch, but the weight startled her. He was soft. Warm. Fragile in a way that terrified her. Somehow heavier than he looked, his heartbeat fluttering against her chest — quick, erratic, alive.

Tiny limbs twitched, hooved feet pressing against her bicep. And, naturally, inevitably… he glared up at her.

Troy stared down at him.

The baby stared back.

Then, without warning, he fussed. A sharp half-growl tore out of his tiny throat as his arms wriggled. Panic jolted through Troy, her grip tightening instinctively as she tried to adjust him.

“Shhh—hey, little gremlin—calm down, I’ve got you, I’m not gonna drop—”

He stopped.

One small upper hand — impossibly delicate, no larger than her thumb — reached up and curled tight around her finger.

Troy froze. The grip was surprisingly strong. Not painful, but insistent. Possessive. Like he was saying, you’re mine now. Get used to it.

“…You’ve got your mother’s attitude,” Troy whispered hoarsely.

The baby blinked slowly.

And held on.