If only he could go back in time, a younger Cassian would never have believed the life he lived now.

Snuggled in the soft embrace of their bed — sheets warm and slightly rumpled beneath them — he cradles a snoring toddler against his chest, while a squirming baby lays sprawled over his mate.

The cool night air drifts in from the open balcony, stirring the curtains in a slow, lazy dance, bringing with it the promise of relief after the heat of the summer's day.

This right here — the steady breaths against his skin, the tiny fingers scratching sleepily at his mate's chest, the chubby cheeks flushed and squashed against her — this was everything he had ever wanted. His dream, lived out in the city of dreamers, where even he, a low-born bastard, had carved out a life full of love and belonging.

The baby smelled achingly sweet — that newborn scent of milk and something impossibly gentle, something that seemed to soften the very air around them.

Cassian tightens his arm around them, as if to anchor himself to this perfect, fleeting moment. "We're going to need a bigger bed," he mumbled, voice thick with quiet wonder.