Danger ⚠️

The rain was soft at first, brushing against the windows like a lullaby.

Orm stirred under the weight of dusk and exhaustion. She had promised Ling she’d only be out for a few hours—to check in on one of the production sets, meet briefly with security. Nothing dangerous. Nothing close to the line.

But danger didn’t care about promises.

It came fast.

A sharp jolt. Tires squealing. Metal cracking.

One of the guards’ SUVs had taken the brunt of the impact—forced off the road by a black van with no plates. Orm’s vehicle followed suit, clipped hard at the back bumper. Her head slammed into the side window, glass shattering in a spray of sharp rain.

The world spun.

When she opened her eyes, she was on the pavement, pulled free by Jayden himself, his face pale and his voice distant. “Ma’am, stay with me.”

Orm blinked, blood on her temple, vision blurry. “Where’s… where’s Ling?”

“She’s safe,” Jayden promised. “You’re safe now.”

But Orm didn’t believe him. Not when the smoke coiled from the engine. Not when her ears rang with the memory of how fast it had come.

She tried to sit up. “Help me—call her. Now.”

Back at the house, Ling had just finished arranging the new drawer of baby socks.

Five months. Her belly had popped into full roundness, and every kick felt like a conversation. Orm had kissed it goodbye that morning with a promise to be home by sunset.

But sunset came. Then silence.

Then the phone rang.

Mae Koy picked it up first, her expression shifting from calm to cold in a heartbeat. “She’s what?”

Ling froze.

The next thing she knew, Mae Koy was wrapping a coat around her shoulders, helping her into the car, despite her protests that she could walk just fine. The driver didn’t need directions—they all knew where Orm’s convoy had been ambushed.

Ling’s hands were shaking the entire ride.

By the time they arrived at the private medical wing under Octavius Kornnaphat’s name, Ling’s nails had dug half-moons into her palms.

But Orm was alive. Sitting on the edge of a clinic bed, her hair wet, temple bandaged, her jacket torn at the shoulder, eyes hollow with fury—and relief when she saw Ling.

“Baby—”

Ling didn’t speak. She just threw her arms around her, careful of the bruises, and held her like the world had nearly ended.

Because it had. Just not yet.

Later that night, when Orm had finally fallen asleep on the couch under her insistence that she was “fine,” Ling stepped out quietly.

She didn’t tell Mae.

She didn’t even alert the guards.

She just asked the driver to take her to him.

The room was the same.

Dim light. Mahogany walls. The faint scent of smoke and aged leather. The kind of place that held secrets in the floorboards.

But Ling had changed.

She stepped into the study without hesitation, five months pregnant and fierce, her hand curved protectively around the swell of her belly. The driver had said nothing on the ride over—he knew better than to question Mrs. Kornnaphat when her eyes looked like that.

Papa Oct looked up from his armchair, a lowball glass untouched in his hand. For the briefest second, his mask faltered.

“Ling.”

His voice was softer than usual. Like seeing her like this—glowing and shaking with quiet rage—had cracked something in him.

She didn’t wait for pleasantries.

“She could’ve died,” she said, her voice a low tremble of fire. “The brake line was cut. If she hadn’t swerved, if Jayden hadn’t pulled her out—”

She broke off, taking a breath. Her other hand gripped the edge of the desk for support.

Papa Oct stood slowly. “I know. I got the full report. I had eyes there before you even arrived.”

Ling’s voice dropped to something deeper. Something sharper.

“I want in.”

He blinked. “In?”

“On the plan. On the takedown. I know you’re moving—quietly. Strategically. I want to be part of it.”

Papa Oct stepped closer, studying her like he used to study chessboards in silence.

“You’re five months pregnant.”

“I’m not asking to kick in doors, Octavius,” she said, leveling her gaze. “I’m asking not to be left behind. This is my family too.”

Silence stretched between them.

“You’re carrying my grandchildren,” he said quietly. “My daughter-in-law. You’re the most important piece on this board. And pieces like you—don’t belong on the front lines.”

“I’m not a piece,” Ling snapped. “I’m a mother. A wife. And I’m telling you—I’m not going to sit in that house like a trapped bird while Marcus circles like a vulture.”

Papa Oct exhaled, eyes narrowing—not with frustration, but with pride. Even now.

He moved to his desk, placing a hand on a folder she couldn’t see. He didn’t open it.

Instead, he walked to her. Stood directly in front of her. Not towering, not intimidating. Just there.

“I once asked myself what kind of woman would be strong enough to love Orm,” he said. “Now I have my answer.”

Ling’s jaw clenched, her eyes burning.

“But love also requires survival. I’m not asking you to stand down, Ling,” he added, more gently. “I’m asking you to last.”

She looked down at her belly, then back up at him. “I can’t last if I lose her.”

Papa Oct reached out, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. “And you won’t. Because she’s mine, too. And I don’t lose what’s mine.”

Ling didn’t speak. Her body trembled from the weight of everything—fear, rage, hormones, grief. But she nodded.

“You’re coming home with me,” he said.

“I can call a car—”

“No. I’m taking you.” His voice brooked no argument. “You don’t walk out of this room alone again, not while they’re watching us.”

She hesitated, but nodded again.

And so they drove—Papa Oct silent at first, then gently asking about the nursery, about Ling’s cravings, about the names they were considering. It was surreal—this man known for power and blood, asking what color curtains they wanted for the twins’ room.

But it grounded her. It helped.

And when the house came into view, Papa Oct stepped out first, walking her all the way to the front door.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured as she turned the key. “We’re already moving. You just focus on staying strong—for her. For them.”

Ling turned to him, her eyes full. “And if something happens again?”

Papa Oct met her gaze with pure steel.

“Then I’ll bury them myself.”

She nodded once, then pushed open the door—ready to face Orm again, heart steadier than it had been in days.

Because now she wasn’t just protected. She was part of the war.

The house was still.

Too still.

Orm jolted upright from the couch, breath ragged, hair disheveled from the quick nap she hadn’t meant to take. She looked around, blinking at the late afternoon light pouring in from the windows.

The silence pressed down on her chest.

“Ling?” she called, already standing. “Ling, where are you?”

No answer.

She rushed through the hallway—past the kitchen, the nursery, the sunroom—every room empty. Her heart thundered in her chest. “Mae?!”

No one.

Panic gripped her throat.

She yanked open the front door just as the black car pulled up to the gate.

Orm’s breath caught.

Ling stepped out first, her hand cradling her belly, followed closely by Papa Oct—his presence calm and quiet like a shadow of reassurance.

But Orm didn’t feel reassured.

She ran.

“Ling!”

Ling turned just in time to see her wife sprint barefoot down the steps, her face crumpling with pure fear and devastation.

“Baby—”

Orm caught her in a fierce embrace, arms wrapping completely around her as if needing to make sure she was solid, alive, here.

“Where the hell did you go?” Orm choked, her voice breaking for the first time in weeks. “I woke up and you were gone—no note, no call, nothing—what if—what if something happened—”

“I’m here,” Ling whispered, stroking her back. “I’m sorry. I had to see him. I had to talk to Papa.”

Orm pulled back, just enough to frame Ling’s face with her hands. Her eyes were glassy, her breathing shallow. “You don’t get to disappear on me,” she whispered. “Not you. Not you too.”

Papa Oct stepped up quietly behind them, but didn’t interrupt. He simply placed a protective hand on Ling’s back and looked Orm straight in the eyes.

“She wasn’t alone,” he said. “And I would’ve called if there was any threat. I had her.”

Orm exhaled shakily, her entire body starting to tremble. She turned her face into Ling’s neck, clutching her like she was all that tethered her to the earth.

Ling’s voice was soft but steady. “You’re not the only one allowed to fight for this family.”

Papa Oct raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. “She’s a warrior. You really thought she’d sit on the sidelines forever?”

Orm sniffled, still not letting go. “I don’t need her to be a warrior. I need her safe.”

Ling pulled back, cupping Orm’s cheek. “And I need you. I need you not to break. Because if you fall apart, I will too.”

Orm swallowed hard, eyes locking with hers. “I was so scared, Ling. I’ve never been that scared. Not since the stalkers. Not even during the attack. I thought I lost you.”

Ling kissed her. Once. Soft and grounding.

“I’m here,” she murmured. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Papa Oct glanced between them, then cleared his throat softly. “I’ll leave you two alone. Mae’s packing her things—I’ll bring her back in the morning.”

Orm looked at him, eyes still raw, but grateful. “Thank you.”

He gave a simple nod. “Take care of my daughter-in-law. And my grandkids.”

“I will,” Orm said quietly. “With everything I’ve got.”

As Papa Oct disappeared down the hallway, Ling guided Orm back inside, their fingers intertwined.

Only when the door clicked shut behind them did Orm finally let herself fully collapse into Ling’s arms.

And for the first time in weeks—she wept.

Not from weakness.

But because love this big?

It demands the right to fall apart, just so someone else can help carry you back.

___

Three days later.

The house had grown quieter—but not in fear.

In focus.

Orm moved through each room with a deliberate grace, no longer checking locks out of paranoia, but from discipline. Her voice was softer, her touches more tender, her kisses slower—but behind her eyes, something had shifted.

She wasn’t watching anymore.

She was calculating.

Ling noticed the difference first.

“How come you’re not pacing the windows anymore?” she asked one morning, watching Orm quietly prepare their tea tray.

Orm glanced over her shoulder with a small, unreadable smile. “Because I’ve already seen everything I need to.”

Ling frowned. “What does that mean?”

Orm walked over, placing the tray gently on the table, then crouched beside her on the couch. She took Ling’s hand, pressing it over the swell of her belly.

“It means I’m done waiting for someone else to strike first.”

Ling’s heart jumped. “Orm…”

Orm held her gaze. “Don’t worry—I’m not doing anything reckless. But I’ve started something. Quiet. Clean. Strategic.”

“What kind of something?”

Orm kissed the inside of her wrist, then rested her cheek against Ling’s belly, letting the sound of soft kicks and flutters answer her.

“I’m using the production crew,” she whispered. “The ones I trust. I’m pulling security footage from locations I never told Papa about. I’m tracing Marcus’s financial trail through campaign funders. No confrontations. Not yet. But when I move…”

She looked up, eyes sharp as glass.

“…it’ll be final.”

Ling swallowed. Her heart raced with something between fear and awe.

“You’re doing this for us,” she said softly.

Orm nodded. “I’m doing this so my children never have to know the names of the men who tried to destroy their family. So they grow up safe. So you can sleep without nightmares again.”

Ling reached forward and gently cradled her face. “You’ve always protected me. But this... this feels different.”

Orm leaned into her palm. “Because now, I’m not just your wife. I’m their mother too. And I will burn the world before I let anyone take that from me.”

They stayed like that for a while—Orm on her knees, Ling’s fingers in her hair, both of them wrapped in the storm and strength of love that refused to bend.

Then Ling whispered, “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“No more going alone. Not even to protect me.”

Orm smiled, something bittersweet and eternal in her eyes. “Never alone. Not anymore.”

She kissed her, slow and lingering.

Not out of fear this time—but because they could. Because the moment allowed it. Because their bodies had been waiting to remember what it felt like to simply be.

Orm deepened the kiss gradually, her lips moving with care, with memory, with hunger tamed only by love. Ling responded just as gently, her fingers tightening in Orm’s shirt, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them, only breath and heat and belonging.

Orm’s hands moved to Ling’s sides, reverent in their touch. She traced the curve of her body—slightly changed, beautifully fuller, radiant with life—and paused at her belly, pressing a kiss there between whispers.

“I’ve missed you,” she murmured, her voice rough with restraint. “All of you.”

Ling’s breath hitched. “Then have me,” she said softly, “slowly.”

And Orm did.

She helped Ling lie back on the couch, the throw blanket falling around them like a cocoon. Her lips mapped every inch of skin she could reach—shoulders, collarbone, the soft swell just above Ling’s bump. She treated every part of her like it was precious, because it was.

Ling’s moans were quiet, tender, laced with love and release. Her hands moved through Orm’s hair as if they were memorizing her again, grounding her, worshipping her in return.

They didn’t rush. There was no need.

Only soft gasps, lingering touches, and whispered promises passed between them like silk.

When they finally stilled, tangled in warmth and breathless closeness, Ling rested her head against Orm’s chest, listening to the heartbeat that had always brought her peace.

“I feel like I can breathe again,” she whispered.

Orm kissed the top of her head. “Me too.”

The rain tapped softly against the window now, not like a threat, but like a lullaby.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside didn’t matter.

Because in here, they were whole. Safe. Seen. Loved.

And nothing—not fear, not enemies, not even war—could take this moment from them.

_______

The next day, Orm stood inside the old wine cellar of Papa Oct’s countryside estate, now converted into a makeshift war room. The stone walls were lined with blueprints, monitors, and photos of Marcus’s known associates.

Jayden was already there, arms folded, watching a live drone feed on one of the screens. Across from him sat Lian, a former intelligence officer Papa Oct trusted with only the most delicate operations. She rarely spoke unless necessary—but when she did, everyone listened.

Orm entered with her jaw tight and determination painted across her face.

Papa Oct glanced up. "You're ready."

"I’ve been ready," Orm replied. "It’s time we stop reacting. We make the next move."

Jayden turned toward her. "We’ve mapped Marcus’s movements. He’s been staying between three properties. The waterfront warehouse is the weakest link."

Orm nodded. "Then that’s our way in. We’ll plant false intel—a file that suggests Papa Oct is pulling back his assets and stepping down. Something Marcus can’t resist targeting."

Lian raised a brow. "He’ll take the bait, but we’ll only get one shot."

"Then we make it count," Orm said. "We flush him out. And we finish this."

Papa Oct watched her closely. "And Ling?"

Orm hesitated.

"She thinks I’m handling security upgrades. That’s all."

Jayden gave her a look. "You sure you want to keep this from her?"

Orm looked down. Her voice was low. "I can’t drag her into this. Not when she’s carrying our children. Not again."

The plan was set. Within twenty-four hours, their team began planting the file on a seemingly unsecured server connected to Papa Oct’s business network. Just visible enough for Marcus to find it.

The response came sooner than expected.

An envelope arrived at the house—not through mail. It was hand-delivered. The guards never saw who left it. No prints. No camera hits. Just the envelope.

Inside was a single card, written in red ink.

I want to see you. Alone. The place where we fell in love. Midnight.

There was no signature.

Orm read it three times, then locked herself in her office.

She called Jayden first.

Then her father.

“I’m going,” she said.

Papa Oct’s voice was ice. “Not alone.”

“I know. But he thinks I will be. That’s the only way this works.”

They set the backup plan quickly. Jayden’s tactical team would be positioned in the nearby lot, Lian on sniper watch. Orm would be wired. The location—an abandoned hotel where Orm had once filmed a critically acclaimed noir series—had plenty of exits. And shadows.

But Orm didn’t anticipate the one threat she couldn’t control.

Ling. Because that night, as she quietly packed her bag, Ling walked into the room.

“Where are you going?”

Orm froze.

“I—just to the estate. Papa wants to—”

“Don’t lie to me.” Ling’s voice was steady, but her eyes shimmered.

Orm turned slowly.

“I’m doing this to keep you safe.”

Ling stepped closer, placing a hand over her bump. "Then tell me the truth. Don’t leave me in the dark while you go running into it."

Orm swallowed hard. "Ling—"

“You don’t get to fight alone anymore,” Ling whispered fiercely. “Not when we built this life together.”

Silence.

Ling stepped closer still, until their foreheads touched. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on… I’ll find out myself. And I won’t be so understanding next time."

Orm let out a shaky breath, pulling her into a trembling hug. “I’m sorry.”

They stood like that for a long moment.

Then Ling looked up. “Go. But come home to me. Come home to us.”

Orm nodded.

And with one last kiss—deep, desperate, anchoring—she left for the meeting that would change everything. She hated keeping things from her wife, but this time it was for her family's own good.

_______

The old hotel loomed like a ghost from Orm’s past—its windows hollowed out, vines creeping up crumbling bricks, paint faded into time. Once a stage for her most haunting performance, tonight it was all too real.

Orm stepped inside alone, her breath steady but tight. Her earpiece crackled faintly—Jayden’s voice cut through the silence:

“Check. You’re in.”

“Copy,” Orm replied, scanning the shadows. “Tell Lian to hold. We wait for visual.”

Outside, Jayden’s team was in place. Papa Oct watched from the safe house nearby. Everything was going according to plan.

Until it wasn’t.

From the far hallway, two figures emerged.

Not one.

Two.

The first was Marcus.

And right behind him… hair longer now, face gaunt but eyes burning with obsession. He moved with a calculated calm Thanom.

Dressed in plain clothes, but just as dangerous—his smirk too confident, his steps too sure.

Orm’s heart clenched.

“Impossible,” she whispered.

Thanom smiled. “Surprised?”

Orm didn’t answer. Her hands stayed close to her sides—ready.

“You thought I was caged,” Thanom went on. “That your father’s chains could hold me. But I told you once, Orm. I don’t belong in a cage. I own the men who built it.”

Marcus stepped beside him, arms crossed. “Half those guards? Bought. The rest? Watching football while we walked out the front gate.”

Jayden’s voice came sharp in her ear. > “Something’s wrong. Movement on the north cameras. I’ve got three… no—six shadows incoming—Orm, abort.”

But it was too late. The floor beneath Orm shifted.

A crack—then the trap sprung.

She fell hard, hitting a hidden shaft beneath the hallway. Metal and dust blurred her vision. A searing bolt of pain shot through her ribs.

She gasped, the world spinning.

“Orm! OR—m! Are you hit?”

Orm groaned into the mic. “Basement… he rigged it. I’m okay. Go after them. Now.”

“Copy—Lian’s moving. Hold tight.”

Above her, footsteps pounded. Voices shouted. Then silence.

Thanom and Marcus were gone.

Escaped.

Orm tried to sit up, clutching her side. Her vision pulsed. Her hands were scraped. But nothing was broken.

At least not physically.

She lay back, breathing hard. “Son of a bitch…”

Jayden’s voice came again. > “Backup en route. Don’t move.”

Orm closed her eyes for just a second.

She had failed. And worse… she let them escape.

_____

Orm sat on the edge of the clinic bed deep inside the countryside estate, her shirt torn at the shoulder, her ribs bandaged tightly, dried blood flaking off her knuckles. The medic moved efficiently, but her mind wasn’t on the pain—it was on the silence that had fallen after extraction.

Until the door slammed open.

Papa Oct strode in, coat still damp from the rain, his eyes locked on his daughter.

“You’re alive,” he said, voice low. Controlled. But the storm inside him was clear.

Orm gave a single nod. “They got me out before the detonation. Barely.”

Jayden stood nearby, jaw clenched. Lian was at the corner monitor, scrubbing through surveillance that now felt like a post-mortem.

“I want the report,” Papa Oct snapped.

“We were close,” Jayden started, “but the escape tunnel—”

“Save it.” Papa Oct raised a hand. “We all saw what happened. What I want to know is how Thanom Ratchada managed to disappear right under our noses. Again.”

“He had help,” Lian said quietly. “Guards on the inside. And Marcus. We traced the car that crossed through the outer field—he was the one driving.”

Papa Oct’s jaw flexed. “I told you we needed double verification on every staff member who’d been inside that prison in the last six months.”

Orm spoke up. “He wasn’t on the list. They paid someone to swap shifts last minute. It was too clean. This was planned months ago.”

“Then why didn’t we see it coming?” Papa Oct thundered, slamming a fist onto the table beside her. “I’m the one who promised you he’d rot in a cage. I promised Ling she was safe. And now…”

He faltered. Just a beat.

“I sent my daughter into a trap,” he finished hoarsely.

Orm stood slowly, wincing as her ribs protested. “You didn’t send me anywhere, Pa. I chose this. I wanted to end it.”

Papa Oct stared at her like he was trying to burn the memory of her bloodied face into his own soul. “And what if he had killed you? What would I tell your mother? What would I tell Ling?”

Orm's voice dropped. “You’d tell her I did it for them. And I’d do it again.”

The silence stretched between them like a broken vow.

Finally, Papa Oct exhaled. Long. Hard. “I’m driving you home. You’re not walking through that door alone.”

“I can—”

“No.” His tone brooked no argument. “Mae’s already waiting with Ling. I called her. She knows something happened.”

Orm’s heart dropped. “Ling—”

“She doesn’t know you’re hurt. But she knows it wasn’t over.”

He grabbed his coat again, voice tight with barely leashed rage. “And now that bastard is out there. While my daughter is wounded and my grandchildren are still growing inside a woman terrified every time the lights flicker.”

He turned, opening the door.

“Let’s go. It’s time we face this as a family.”

Orm hesitated only for a second before following him into the rain-soaked hallway, her jaw set. Her father beside her. Her mother waiting at home.

And Ling—the center of everything—about to learn that the war had only just begun.

The rain had slowed by the time Papa Oct’s car pulled up to the front gates, but the clouds above still hung low and heavy, mirroring the storm inside Orm’s chest.

Mae Koy stood on the porch with an umbrella in hand, eyes sharp despite the late hour. But it was Ling—barefoot in the doorway, wearing Orm’s old college hoodie and cradling her baby bump—who looked straight past Papa Oct.

Her eyes landed on Orm.

And her heart stilled.

“Orm,” she whispered.

Orm barely managed to step out of the car before Ling was already moving, ignoring Mae Koy’s soft protest as she hurried barefoot through the wet tiles. She reached them just as Orm’s foot hit the top step.

Ling’s eyes scanned her—shoulder, side, the small stiff wince she tried to hide. Then the blood on her sleeve.

“You’re hurt,” Ling said softly.

“I’m okay,” Orm replied, voice too calm.

Ling didn’t blink. “Don’t lie to me.”

Papa Oct looked away, guilt flashing behind his stern gaze. Mae Koy placed a hand gently over his, silently guiding him back into the house to give them space.

Orm reached for Ling’s hand. “Baby, listen—”

But Ling was already reaching for her, her fingers trembling as she pushed the hoodie aside and saw the bandage beneath her shirt. “You told me you were just upgrading security,” she whispered. “You said it was handled.”

Orm winced. “It was supposed to be. The extraction… went sideways.”

Ling’s voice cracked. “What extraction? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Thanom’s gone,” Orm admitted quietly. “He escaped. Marcus helped him. We had a plan in place to trap him tonight but—he knew. Somehow, he knew.”

Ling took a step back, as if the air itself had turned cold. Her hand instinctively wrapped around her bump.

“You could’ve died,” she whispered.

Orm stepped forward again, her voice hoarse. “But I didn’t. I’m here. And I will never let them touch you. Not you. Not them.”

Tears welled in Ling’s eyes. “You promised me.”

“I know.”

“You said you wouldn’t shut me out again.”

“I didn’t want you to worry—”

“I’m pregnant, not fragile!” Ling shouted, then instantly winced, her hand gripping her side.

Orm rushed forward and caught her gently. “Okay—okay, breathe with me. Come on.”

Ling buried her face in Orm’s chest, her breath hitching. “You’re all I have. All we have. If anything happened to you…”

Orm wrapped her arms around her tightly, one hand protectively resting over their children. “It won’t. I’m not going anywhere. I promise you that, Ling. I swear it.”

Behind them, the lights of the house flickered on, casting a soft glow over the couple.

And in that doorway, Orm held her entire world in her arms—broken, but breathing.

Still here. Still fighting.For their family.

The silence between them wasn’t cold. It was heavy—so full of everything that hadn’t been said in those moments outside that even the wind didn’t dare interrupt.

Papa Oct stood a few steps back, watching his daughter and her wife with unreadable eyes. But when Mae Koy touched his arm gently, he sighed.

“I’ll take you home,” he murmured to her.

Mae Koy nodded, though her eyes stayed on Ling, her expression soft with worry.

She stepped forward first, brushing a hand over Ling’s arm. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

Ling offered a small nod, eyes still red, her other hand clutching Orm’s.

Papa Oct looked at his daughter—at the pain etched into her posture, the guilt written across her face, and the way she held her wife like the center of her universe.

“Rest tonight,” he said softly. “Both of you.”

Orm looked up, her voice low but steady. “I’m sorry, Dad. I should’ve seen it coming—”

He shook his head. “We all should have. And now… we’ll be sharper.” His voice dropped. “We’ll be ruthless.”

He stepped forward just enough to place a hand on Ling’s shoulder.

“Take care of yourself,” he said gently. “And my grandchildren.”

Ling nodded again, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly. “I always do.”

With a shared glance between them all, Papa Oct and Mae Koy disappeared into the car. The headlights swept across the wet driveway, then faded down the road.

Orm exhaled shakily and turned back to Ling. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

Their hands stayed clasped as they stepped through the door, into the soft warmth of home.

The living room was dimly lit—one lamp still glowing from when Mae Koy had been reading earlier. The air smelled faintly of tea and sandalwood. Familiar. Grounding.

Ling moved slowly, still shaken, one hand steadying herself against the wall as she slipped off her shoes.

Orm helped her out of the wet hoodie, then wrapped a blanket gently around her shoulders. “Let’s sit down. Just for a second.”

They lowered themselves onto the couch, side by side, the silence between them no longer tense—but intimate. Fragile. Ling curled into Orm’s side, resting her head on her shoulder.

“I hated seeing you bleed,” she whispered. “Even just a little. It felt like my whole world cracked open.”

Orm kissed the top of her head. “I’m okay. I promise.”

“You said that before.”

“I know,” Orm admitted, voice breaking slightly. “But this time… I mean it. I’m done making decisions alone.”

Ling looked up at her then, brushing her fingers across her jaw. “No more secrets.”

“No more secrets,” Orm echoed.

The twins kicked gently, as if to remind them they were listening.

Orm smiled. “They’re agreeing with you.”

Ling gave a tired, wet laugh, then leaned in to press her forehead against Orm’s. “We’re going to get through this. Together.”

Orm nodded, her arms wrapping around her once more, anchoring them both.

____

The car hummed quietly down the dark road, its tinted windows reflecting the passing streetlights in soft pulses. Rain still dotted the glass, but the storm had moved on—leaving the city in a quiet, tense hush.

Papa Oct sat in the back seat, one hand draped across his lap, the other rubbing absently at his temple. His jaw was tight, but his eyes… they flickered with something far more painful than fury.

Mae Koy sat beside him, a blanket draped over her lap, her gaze steady on the road ahead. She didn’t speak right away. She let him breathe.

Finally, she asked gently, “How bad is it?”

He didn’t turn his head. “Thanom never should’ve been able to get out. I had men inside the prison. I had my eyes everywhere.”

Mae Koy folded her hands calmly. “But Marcus paid better.”

“Yes.” Papa Oct’s voice was bitter. “They turned. Quietly. Efficiently. While we were focused on defense, they were building their counterattack.”

“And now Thanom is free,” she said, not to provoke—but to name the truth.

He nodded once, a cold flash in his eyes. “He’s more dangerous than ever. He wants blood, and he won’t stop at scaring them anymore.”

Mae Koy inhaled deeply, pressing a hand to her chest. “Orm almost died tonight.”

“I know.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “She’s my daughter. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve warned her sooner. I sent her into a trap I thought I controlled.”

Mae Koy reached out and placed a hand on his. “She survived. Because she’s you. Because she’s me. And because she’s her own fire.”

Papa Oct turned to look at her then—really look. “I’m scared for them, Koy. I’m scared for our grandchildren.”

Mae Koy’s eyes filled slightly, but her voice remained steady. “So am I. But Ling… she’s strong. Stronger than even Orm realizes. And those babies—they are growing healthy and stubborn.”

A soft smile tugged at her lips. “Ling said she’s sure the girl is the one kicking at night, because ‘she already wants the last word.’”

That earned the faintest smile from him.

“She’s five months now,” Mae Koy continued. “Eating more. Sleeping less. Still insists on folding laundry herself, even when Orm yells at her for it.”

He let out a quiet breath. “She reminds me of you.”

“Only when she’s angry,” Mae Koy teased, then grew quiet. “She’s holding everything together with sheer will. But she’s scared. She cries at night sometimes when she thinks no one hears.”

Papa Oct’s throat tightened.

“And she won’t admit it,” Mae Koy whispered. “Because she knows Orm already carries too much. That girl… she’d rather drown silently than weigh Orm down.”

They were quiet again, the weight of all they loved and feared suspended between them.

Then Papa Oct spoke.

“We end it,” he said. “No more waiting. No more watching. We strike, Koy. We strike before they can.”

Mae Koy nodded. “But do it cleanly. No more secrets. No more risks that make our daughter bleed again.”

“I’ll protect them,” he promised. “Even if it kills me.”

She looked at him then, soft but strong. “No. You’ll protect them and live to see those babies born. That’s what you owe them. That’s what we both do now.”

The car slowed as they neared their home.

Two parents. One war.

And a promise that this time, no one would touch what they loved without paying the price.

_________

The silence stretched, but it was a good kind—the kind that said we’re here, we’re safe, we’re still breathing.

Orm’s fingers traced idle, loving circles against Ling’s back. She could still feel the tension clinging to her wife’s muscles like shadow, but it was slowly ebbing now, replaced by something softer. Quieter.

The world outside could wait.

“I’ll draw us a bath,” Orm whispered, brushing her lips against Ling’s temple.

Ling didn’t respond immediately. She simply melted deeper into her, fingers curling gently around the fabric of Orm’s shirt. Then, after a pause, she whispered back, “Only if you stay in it with me.”

Orm pulled back just enough to smile, brushing a strand of hair from Ling’s cheek. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

—

Ten minutes later, steam curled from the surface of the tub, filling the bathroom with the scent of lavender and chamomile. Ling eased into the warm water, letting out a small sigh of relief as Orm helped her get comfortable, propping a soft towel behind her back.

Then Orm slipped in behind her, wrapping her arms gently around Ling’s middle, her hands resting over the slight rise of her belly like a shield of love.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Just soft breaths.

Just slow heartbeats.

The water cradled them like a cocoon, and the silence was filled with unspoken promises.

“I keep thinking about them,” Ling whispered at last. “About what their lives will be like. If they’ll grow up with the same kind of love we found… or if they’ll have to fight for it like we did.”

Orm rested her chin on Ling’s shoulder. “They’ll grow up knowing they were born from love. Protected by it. Surrounded by it.”

“And you’ll teach them how to fight.”

Orm smiled against her skin. “Only if you teach them when to stop.”

A quiet laugh.

“I think we’ll be good at this,” Ling whispered.

“We already are,” Orm said, kissing her shoulder.

Ling turned her head slightly, meeting her eyes. “Even with everything going on?”

“Especially because of everything going on,” Orm replied. “Because we know what matters.”

They kissed—soft and slow—steam curling around them like mist.

When they finally left the water, the world had grown quieter. The storm outside had moved on. And their hearts beat steady again, like drums promising morning.

—

Later that night, they lay tangled in each other beneath the sheets. Orm’s arm draped protectively over Ling’s waist, their legs intertwined, her hand gently splayed across her bump. Ling shifted slightly, nuzzling closer.

“I love you,” she whispered sleepily.

Orm didn’t reply with words.

She just held her tighter, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, a silent vow:

I will protect this. Always.

Morning arrived gently.

The rain had passed, leaving dew on the windows and the soft scent of wet earth lingering in the air. Light filtered through gauzy curtains, brushing golden across their bedroom floor like a quiet blessing.

Ling woke first.

She lay still for a moment, her hand instinctively resting over her bump, feeling the slow movements beneath her skin. A flutter. A stretch. A soft kick. Her heart swelled.

Orm stirred behind her, her breath warm against the back of Ling’s neck.

“You’re awake,” Ling whispered.

“Mmm,” Orm murmured sleepily, pulling her closer without opening her eyes. “Shouldn’t be. But if you are, I want to be too.”

Ling smiled and twisted slightly to face her. Orm blinked up at her, hair a mess, eyes swollen from sleep, and still—the most beautiful thing Ling had ever seen.

“Thank you,” Ling whispered, stroking her cheek.

“For what?” Orm murmured.

“For coming back to me. For holding me through everything. For still being you.”

Orm kissed her palm, slow and soft. “Always. You’re my compass, Ling. Without you, I’d be lost.”

They stayed in bed longer than usual. No alarms. No urgency. Just the sacred slowness of being safe, together.

Eventually, they rose and moved through the motions of morning—tea, warm rice porridge, gentle music playing through the house. Orm made Ling sit while she did most of the work, insisting on letting her rest, though Ling still stole moments to sneak up behind her and wrap her arms around her waist.

Later, as they snuggled on the couch, Orm’s entire world narrowed to the small curve of Ling’s belly.

She turned, kneeling in front of her wife, and laid her head gently against it. “Hi, babies,” she cooed softly, her voice full of sunshine. “Did you sleep well? Did you dream about your mama singing to you again?”

Ling raised an eyebrow, amused.

Orm kissed one side of the bump, then the other. “You know, if one of you hiccups again today, I’m canceling all my meetings and building you a tiny palace out of pillows. Yes, I will. Mommy’s serious.”

Ling crossed her arms, lips twitching. “Wow. I see how it is. And what do I get for hiccuping?”

Orm didn’t miss a beat. “A foot rub. Obviously. But these two—” she kissed the bump again, “—get mommy’s whole heart.”

Ling scoffed, pretending to pout. “Well, clearly I’ve been replaced.”

Orm looked up with wide, mock-innocent eyes. “I mean… look at them. They’re so cute and squishy already.”

“You haven’t even seen their faces yet!”

“I’ve felt their souls. That’s enough,” Orm declared dramatically, placing a hand over her heart.

Ling stared at her for a beat. “You are so whipped.”

Orm beamed. “For you, and now for them. Totally doomed.”

Ling rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her smile betrayed her. She leaned down and kissed the top of Orm’s head. “Okay fine. But I get dibs on cuddles later. Mama’s privileges.”

Orm grinned and rested her cheek back on Ling’s bump. “Deal.”

They stayed like that—Orm cooing softly to her belly, Ling pretending to be annoyed but secretly melting—until the soft knock from the guard interrupted their moment.

Just a status update.

Everything was quiet.

Still.

Peaceful.

And as Orm returned to Ling’s side, wrapping her arms around her and the babies once more, they both knew:

This moment, this love, this life—they would protect it with everything they had.

And next time the world tried to take it away…

It would have to get through all four of them.