Warner sat alone in the quiet of their room, the low hum of the world outside muffled by the thickness of his thoughts. His hands rested on his knees, but his gaze was locked on her—a sight that unraveled him in ways he couldn’t articulate. She stood near the window, bathed in sunlight, her hands instinctively cradling the curve of her belly. Their child. His child.

The thought brought an ache so sharp it was almost unbearable. How could something so fragile and fleeting, something not yet tangible, command such gravity over him? He didn’t believe in miracles, but there she was, proving him wrong with every breath. Every heartbeat. And now, carrying the embodiment of the life they had carved out of ruin together.

Warner rose, his movements deliberate, like he feared startling her—or the future they were on the brink of. His hands found hers, brushing against her abdomen, reverent and careful.

“I don’t know how to love something I’ve never met,” he said, his voice a quiet rasp, “but it feels like I already do.”

His fingers traced soft circles against her skin, and for the first time in his life, the words came easily. “You’ve made me reckless,” he admitted, a shadow of a smile ghosting across his lips. “But for you—for them—I’d gladly destroy the world all over again.”