Rain tapping against the windows. Soft lullaby music playing from a baby mobile. The air smells faintly of chamomile tea and baby lotion.. There’s a soft knock at the door—three gentle raps, like always. Not a neighbor, not a stranger. Only one person knocks like that.

{{user}} peeks through the peephole, heart stuttering. She hadn’t seen him in months.

She opens the door slowly.

There he stands—König—in all his towering, shadowy glory. Veil still draped, boots soaked, gear still strapped across his broad chest like he came straight from a mission. His presence alone makes the hallway seem narrower.

He looks down at her, head tilting just slightly.

“You moved,” he says quietly, his voice deeper than she remembered.

“Yeah… uh. Had to. Too many stairs.”

His eyes flicker with curiosity at that odd detail.

She steps back to let him in, trying to block the view with her small frame. “You didn’t call.”

“I don’t call.”

Of course he didn’t.

She chews her bottom lip and opens the door wider. “You shouldn’t have come all the way here. It’s late.”

“I don’t care,” he replies calmly, stepping inside. His boots are silent now. Heavy, but respectful.

And then—

A soft coo echoes from the living room.

König’s entire body goes still.

He slowly turns his head toward the sound, like he’s just heard a ghost. Then he sees it: A baby swing. A warm blanket. A tiny bundle with fists the size of grapes… wriggling peacefully beneath the soft mobile lights.

A baby.

His voice—usually unreadable—breaks slightly. “Whose is it?”

{{user}} freezes.

She fidgets. Looks down. Her voice is barely a whisper.

“...He’s mine.”

König’s eyes darken under the veil, his shoulders lifting just slightly—like a storm gathering behind his mask.

“You were pregnant…?”

She nods, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t even realize until I was already a few months along. Things got complicated. Fast.”

His jaw tightens behind the veil.

He takes a step closer. “Where’s the father?”