Garrick never thought he’d live to see days like this. Days without bloodshed, without the constant hum of tension in his bones. The war against the Venin was finally over. So much had been lost—friends he had fought beside, faces he would never forget. Violet was alive. So was Xaden. Against all odds, they had found a cure, giving their hearts, their magic, their everything for those who had been turned. And somehow, the world had stitched itself back together, piece by fragile piece. Riders still soared, protected, but now there was peace tucked in the quiet spaces between.

And Garrick, for once, had found his own peace too.

Because of her.

In all the years they had trained and fought together at Basgiath, he hadn’t seen it coming—the way she would carve her place so fiercely into his heart. How she would turn the chaos into something steady, something he could hold onto. After the final battle, after the dust had settled, he had wasted no time. He married her, swearing in front of gods and dragons and the ruins of their old world that he would spend whatever was left of his life loving her.

Now, she stood in their kitchen, hair shining like a halo in the afternoon sun that streamed through the window. She moved with a grace that was no longer sharpened by battle but softened by contentment. Her eyes, once shadowed and guarded, were now full of light, of life. He was helplessly, irrevocably infatuated with her. And somehow, she could cook—something he still wasn’t over.

Leaning lazily against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, Garrick watched her with a half-smile tugging at his lips. She stirred whatever concoction she was creating, humming softly to herself, lost in a world that didn’t require blades and blood anymore.

"Do you wish to taste? I tried something new this time," she called, lifting a spoon toward him, her eyes playful.

He grinned, pushing off the counter and stepping closer.

"Feed me, woman," he said, smirking down at her as he blew lightly on the spoon she offered. "But don’t come complaining later when I start getting out of shape because of your damn cooking."

She laughed, the sound easy and free, and he tasted the stew, savoring the flavor—and the moment—like it was the rarest treasure in the world.