Danger ⚠️

The rain had passed.

For two days, the skies had been clear, stretching wide and blue above the estate like a truce the world had finally offered them. Birdsong returned to the mornings. The garden swayed gently in the wind. The silence—for once—felt like peace, not tension.

Inside the house, Orm hadn’t left Ling’s side.

She brought her breakfast in bed, read aloud from their favorite books, and massaged her swollen feet every evening like it was the most sacred ritual. She whispered to her belly at night, humming lullabies she'd made up on the spot, talking to their daughter and son like they were already in her arms.

And every time she did, Ling’s chest would ache in that sweet, unbearable way—the way only love could.

"Okay, baby tiger," Orm murmured, forehead pressed to Ling’s bump as she knelt beside her on the couch. "That was you kicking, right? So strong. Already showing off."

Ling raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “You didn’t say anything to our baby star. Again.”

Orm grinned, unbothered. “He’s quiet. Chill. Like me.”

“You are not chill,” Ling said, half-laughing, half-pouting.

“She’s clingy like you,” Orm teased, gently rubbing the curve where the kick had come from. “Always has to remind us she’s here.”

Ling narrowed her eyes playfully. “Are you… playing favorites?”

Orm gasped, utterly scandalized. “What?! Never.”

“You so are!”

“I love all three of you with my entire soul,” Orm insisted dramatically, leaning over to kiss Ling’s cheek. Then her lips trailed softly to her belly. “I love you. I love you. And I love your gorgeous, powerful, goddess of a mother.”

Ling blushed, leaning back against the cushions with a fake sigh. “Fine. You’re forgiven.”

Orm crawled up beside her on the couch, settling in close. “Good. Because I’m not done cuddling yet.”

They wrapped around each other in the sun-drenched room, limbs tangled, hands resting over the soft, growing swell between them.

The calm didn’t last.

By late afternoon, the light had shifted—warmer, dimmer. Ling had dozed off with her head in Orm’s lap, the twins shifting lazily beneath her shirt, when the alert came.

A knock at the door.

Three short raps—guard protocol. Orm looked up sharply.

“Come in,” she called, keeping her voice low to avoid waking Ling.

Jayden stepped inside, flanked by two estate guards. He looked tense—jaw tight, eyes flicking toward Ling.

“What is it?” Orm asked, already straightening.

Jayden didn’t speak at first. He simply reached into the secure box he was carrying and pulled out a small object, cradled in a sealed plastic pouch.

Orm’s breath caught.

It was a music box.

Ornate. Brass. Delicate floral etching on the lid.

Her childhood music box.

Orm stood slowly, heart pounding. “That’s not possible.”

Jayden met her gaze. “We intercepted it in the east garden. Someone left it on the bench near the jasmine bushes. Security sweep didn’t catch them. No cameras, no prints. Just this.”

Orm’s voice dropped. “This was in my father’s private vault.”

“I know,” Jayden said grimly. “Which means Thanom wasn’t bluffing. He’s already inside our walls.”

Ling stirred then, groggy but instantly alert from the change in Orm’s tone. “What’s happening?”

Orm moved to her side, crouching down. “Baby, don’t panic. But someone got onto the property. They left… something.”

Ling’s eyes widened. “What kind of something?”

Jayden gently handed Orm a printed note they found tucked beneath the box.

It read:

“The past always finds its way home.”

No signature. No fingerprints. But the smell of old perfume still clung to the velvet lining—one Orm hadn’t worn since she was fifteen.

Her stomach churned.

“Get everyone on red alert,” Orm said to Jayden. “Double shifts. I want motion sensors on every blind spot. And no one moves without full ID checks, not even the staff.”

Jayden nodded and left with the team.

Orm turned back to Ling, whose face had gone pale.

“I thought we were safe here,” Ling whispered.

“We are,” Orm said quickly, gripping her hands. “We are, okay? This isn’t weakness—it’s a warning. And now we know.”

Ling’s voice trembled. “But how did he get something from the vault?”

Orm’s expression darkened. “Someone helped him. Someone with access. Which means we have a mole.”

They sat in silence for a beat.

Then Ling looked down at her belly. “We have to move. This house… it isn’t safe anymore.”

Orm pulled her close. “We won’t run. Not again. I’ll clear this rot from the inside. He wants us afraid.”

She pressed a kiss to Ling’s temple.

“Let him watch us stand.”

_____

Papa Oct stared at the music box like it was a curse come back to life.

It sat in the center of the long table in his estate’s war room, still inside the plastic evidence pouch. The faint perfume clinging to it filled the space—his late wife’s fragrance. One he hadn’t smelled in over a decade.

His jaw tightened.

“This was in the locked safe behind my office bookshelf,” he said, his voice cold and quiet. “Only three people have ever known the code. Two of them are sitting in this room.”

Jayden stood across from him, arms stiff at his sides. “We’re tracing every person who’s had clearance in the past six months. But someone bypassed all alarms. It’s an inside job.”

Papa Oct didn’t blink. “Then root them out.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door opened behind them.

Orm stepped in, her presence sharp as the crack of thunder. Her hair was still damp from the drizzle outside, her eyes dark with barely concealed rage.

“I took Ling to her parents’ house,” she said, moving to her father’s side. “Mae’s with her. She’s safe.”

Papa Oct nodded once, but didn’t say “good.” They both knew it wasn’t enough.

Orm stared down at the music box.

“Tell me everything.”

Jayden filled her in—the time the breach was detected, where the box was found, the lack of visual or biometric data. Whoever did this had walked the property like they belonged.

Like they were family.

Orm’s hands curled into fists.

Papa Oct finally spoke again. “This wasn’t a threat. It was a message.”

Orm looked at him. “He got into your vault. Which means he got through your people. Or someone close to you is on his payroll.”

Papa Oct’s jaw clenched. “We’re changing every protocol. Top to bottom. No one gets in or out without biometric re-verification. Guards rotate every four hours. Access logs go to me and you directly. No exceptions.”

“And the mole?” Orm asked.

“We flush them out.” He handed her a black folder. “We start here.”

Orm opened it—profiles, movements, behavior reports, purchase histories. Subtle red flags in otherwise clean records.

She looked up. “You were already tracking your own staff.”

Papa Oct’s mouth twitched grimly. “That’s why I’m still alive.”

Orm nodded, then pushed her hair back and exhaled. “We need to move fast. If Thanom knows what’s in your vault, he knows more than we thought. He’s escalating again.”

“He wants to shake us,” Papa Oct said. “Make us paranoid.”

“It’s working,” Orm said softly. “But not the way he thinks.”

Her voice turned steel. “He made a mistake showing his hand.”

Papa Oct’s eyes narrowed. “Then let’s cut it off.”

Down in the east wing of Papa Oct’s estate, the security hub buzzed with quiet urgency.

Lian stood before a wall of screens, her arms crossed, scanning heat maps, gate footage, and biometric logs. Calm, razor-sharp, and focused like a blade mid-swing.

Orm stepped in behind her, flanked by Jayden and two senior tech officers. The air crackled with intensity.

“Talk to me,” she said.

Lian didn’t turn around. “I ran a time-locked audit across the last 72 hours of security footage. Compared every shift pattern, food delivery, and access request.”

Orm moved beside her. “And?”

“Only one pattern repeated,” Lian said. She tapped a screen. “Luca. North perimeter guard. Quiet. Average. Never missed a shift. But last night, he accessed a blind spot on the eastern lawn—twice.”

Jayden frowned. “That’s near the hydrangea wall, behind the old greenhouse. Dead zone.”

Orm’s eyes narrowed. “Why go there unless you’re meeting someone?”

Lian turned. “Because that’s exactly what he did.”

She pressed play on a grainy infrared overlay. Two figures. One crouched low. One handing over a small object. They vanished in under thirty seconds.

“Facial scan?” Orm asked.

“Useless,” Jayden muttered. “Hats, masks. And Luca left right after his shift.”

“Where is he now?”

“Didn’t report in this morning. He’s gone.”

Orm’s stomach twisted, but she stayed composed. “He got something out of the vault. That means he had help.”

Jayden handed her a tablet. “Guess who approved his clearance last month?”

Orm’s eyes scanned the file. Her jaw locked.

She looked at Lian. “Camilla.”

Their estate's internal systems manager. Ling had baked her birthday cupcakes just two weeks ago. Quiet, polite, always smiling.

“She flagged her own systems last week to justify an update,” Lian added. “That’s how they slipped the intel packet into the house network. She was the back door.”

“Where is she now?”

“Upstairs. She’s still here.”

Orm was already walking. “Bring her to the basement. Quietly. No guards. No alert. I want to look her in the eye.”

Lian moved like a ghost. Jayden disappeared through another hallway.

Within ten minutes, Camilla was seated in the glass-walled debrief room beneath the estate. Her eyes flicked nervously between Orm and Lian.

“I don’t know what this is about—”

“You do,” Orm interrupted softly, folding her arms. “Don’t insult me.”

Camilla’s lips pressed tight. Her shoulders tensed. But she didn’t deny it.

Orm stared her down, voice low and even. “You got close. You smiled. You ate at my table. Why?”

Camilla’s eyes shone—more anger than guilt. “Because Thanom offered me something no one else ever did. A future. A place in the new world he’s building.”

Orm leaned forward slowly. “The only thing Thanom’s building… is his own grave.”

Camilla didn’t flinch. “You’re too late. He’s already in.”

Lian stepped forward. “No. You’re wrong. He was in. Now he’s exposed.”

Camilla looked shaken now.

Orm didn’t move. Her next words were ice. “You’re going to tell us everything. Names. Entry points. Who else he's turned. Because if you don’t... Thanom won’t be the only one who disappears.”

Silence.

Then Camilla whispered, “There’s one more inside.”

But she didn’t say another word.

_________

Orm walked beside Camilla in the long, stone-lined hallway of the estate’s underground wing, her footsteps quiet but full of purpose. Jayden followed a few paces behind, armed but not threatening—yet.

Camilla’s wrists were bound in front of her, but her expression remained defiant. Not afraid. Not yet.

Papa Oct was waiting in the war room, coat already off, sleeves rolled, eyes tired but sharp.

When the door opened and he saw who was with Orm, he didn’t speak. He just slowly removed his glasses and set them down on the map-covered table.

“Camilla,” he said calmly. “You’ve disappointed me.”

Camilla didn’t answer.

Orm guided her forward. “She said there’s another one. Still inside. Someone else helping Luca.”

Papa Oct’s jaw tensed. “Who?”

Camilla’s lips trembled now. Not with fear—shame.

“Felix,” she whispered. “Communications analyst. He’s been feeding updates through the security node. He gets them out. Luca gets them in.”

Jayden cursed under his breath. “Felix? The kid who ran drone support during your birthday dinner?”

Papa Oct’s face darkened like thunder.

Orm turned to Jayden. “Get Felix. Now. Quietly.”

Jayden was already gone.

Camilla looked at Papa Oct. “He made us believe you were the villain. That Orm was blinded by her privilege. That this family needed to fall.”

Papa Oct stepped forward slowly, gaze like steel. “Thanom seduces the weak with illusions of revolution. But all he offers is rot.”

“You don’t know what it’s like outside this house,” Camilla snapped. “You don’t know what we gave up to work for you.”

“I gave you everything,” Papa Oct said. “Access. Respect. Safety.”

“And control,” she bit back.

Orm didn’t let her anger show. “Thanom promised you freedom, but he used you like pawns.”

Camilla flinched, but said nothing.

A knock at the door—Jayden returned, dragging Felix by the collar, stunned and pale.

Papa Oct didn’t even look at him.

“You’ll both be transported to my private holding site until the authorities arrive,” he said. “But first… you’ll show us the entire network. Every channel. Every contact. Everything he’s touched.”

Felix stammered, “I—I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just… he said he’d pay for my mother’s surgery—”

“Save it,” Orm cut in sharply. “You chose your price.”

Jayden secured them both, leading them out with a silent glare. The room grew quiet again.

Papa Oct turned to Orm. “We were sloppy.”

Orm’s voice was low. “We trusted the wrong people.”

Papa Oct studied his daughter. “But you didn’t flinch. You saw her. You brought her in.”

Orm didn’t relax. “Thanom knew that music box was locked away. Which means he’s already gotten into more than we thought.”

“He wanted to shake you,” Papa Oct murmured. “But now we shake him.”

Orm nodded.

Then her phone buzzed.

Ling.

She stepped away, lifting the phone—but paused.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. A rush of protectiveness surged through her.

“Go on,” Papa Oct said gently. “She needs you.”

Orm answered. “Hey, baby.”

Ling’s voice was tight with worry. “Why didn’t you answer earlier? I had this… this horrible feeling.”

Orm closed her eyes for a second. “I’m okay. I promise.”

“You’re not saying something,” Ling whispered. “I can feel it.”

Orm hesitated, then looked over at her father, who gave her the slightest nod.

She turned away and exhaled.

“I can’t lie to you anymore,” she said softly. “There was a breach. Someone inside. Two people. One of them gave Thanom access to something from my childhood—my music box.”

Ling gasped on the other end. “From the vault?”

“He wanted me to know he’s close,” Orm said. “But he made a mistake. Now we know who’s helping him.”

A pause.

“Where are you?” Ling asked.

“Still at the estate,” Orm said. “We’re locking down everything. Don’t worry. I had to get you out of there because I knew this was coming.”

Ling’s voice broke. “Just promise me you’re not going in alone.”

“I’m not,” Orm whispered. “I’ve got backup this time. And Papa. And soon, I’ll have you again.”

A pause. Ling’s voice, tender but firm: “Come home to me.”

Orm’s voice cracked with emotion. “Always.”

She ended the call, tucking the phone against her chest.

Papa Oct watched her, then said, “She’s braver than most of the men I’ve trained.”

Orm smiled faintly. “She’s the reason I’m still standing.”

Papa Oct nodded. “Then let’s make sure she never has to stand alone.”

_______

The soft hum of the garden fountain drifted in through the open windows of the Kwong family’s estate. It was nearly dusk, and the sky outside was tinted with that deep lavender hue that always made Ling feel a little more fragile.

Mae Koy sat beside her on the sunroom loveseat, her arm curled gently around Ling’s shoulders. A teacup sat forgotten in her lap, the herbal blend gone cold.

Ling hadn’t said much since Orm left.

She just kept staring out at the garden, one hand resting over the slight rise of her bump, the other curled loosely around a folded baby sock she hadn’t realized she’d taken from her overnight bag.

Mae finally broke the silence. “She’s strong, you know. Our Orm.”

Ling nodded, her voice small. “I know. But I still feel like I can’t breathe when she’s not near.”

Mae brushed a strand of hair from Ling’s cheek. “That’s what love does. It doesn’t just fill you—it stretches you. Makes room for more worry. More joy. More everything.”

Ling let out a soft, trembling laugh. “She tries to keep me in the dark. To protect me. But it only makes me more afraid.”

“She’s learning,” Mae said gently. “And so are you.”

Ling turned to her slowly, tears in her eyes. “I hate feeling this useless. I’m sitting here drinking tea while she’s… doing God knows what. Facing down monsters.”

Mae’s grip tightened around her. “You’re not useless, Ling. You’re carrying two lives. And don’t for a second think that Orm doesn’t draw her strength from knowing you and those babies are safe. That’s what she’s fighting for.”

Ling leaned her head on Mae’s shoulder. “I miss her.”

Mae pressed a kiss to her hair. “She’ll come back. She always does.”

Silence returned, but it wasn’t heavy this time. It was warm. Shared.

Then Ling sat up a little, her hand gently caressing her bump. “They can feel it, you know. When I’m tense. When I cry. I hate that.”

Mae placed her hand over Ling’s. “Then let them feel this instead.”

She wrapped her arms around Ling and began to hum a soft lullaby—one from Orm’s childhood. A melody Orm used to fall asleep to when the world felt too loud.

Ling closed her eyes and let the tune fill the space around her, imagining Orm out there—brave, fierce, doing everything she could to protect their family.

And for now, all Ling could do was breathe. Sing. Hope. And wait.

The lullaby faded slowly into the quiet hum of the house.

Ling had nearly drifted off, nestled against Mae Koy on the couch, a soft blanket draped over her lap, when her phone vibrated against her thigh. Just once—quiet, but precise. Like a warning whisper in the dark.

Mae glanced over, sensing the shift in Ling’s breathing.

Ling reached slowly for the phone.

Unknown Number. 1 New Message.

She tapped it open, her thumb trembling slightly.

“I wonder… will your babies cry like you did when the music box played?”

Her vision blurred instantly.

The message was followed by a picture.

It was dim and shadowed, but the object was unmistakable: a cracked porcelain music box—Orm’s. The one from her childhood. The one that used to lull her to sleep after her mother died. The one that Papa Oct had locked away in his private vault for safekeeping.

And now it was in someone else’s hand.

Ling couldn’t breathe.

Then another message.

“Cute twins. Must be hard to run while carrying both.”

She gasped audibly.

Mae Koy turned sharply. “Ling?”

Ling turned the screen toward her, wide-eyed, pale. Mae’s face hardened at the sight of the messages, her jaw locking tight.

“Call Orm,” Mae said immediately.

But just as Ling’s finger hovered over the call button—
Another vibration.

“Say nothing. Or they won’t make it to six months.”

Ling let out a soft cry and instinctively clutched her belly.

Mae was already pulling her close, holding her tightly. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. We’ll handle this.”

But Ling wasn’t crying anymore.

She was trembling.

And underneath it all—was fury.

“They threatened my babies,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “They want me terrified.”

Mae Koy cupped her face. “Then let’s give them hell instead.”

Mae Koy locked every window and door herself.

Ling sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped protectively around her bump, eyes scanning the messages again and again, memorizing every word, every punctuation mark, every unspoken threat.

“We can’t tell Orm yet,” she whispered. “She’ll go ballistic.”

Mae Koy nodded, checking the security feed on her tablet. “We’ll tell her when we have something concrete. Until then, we stay alert. Together.”

They spent the next hour combing through possible leads. Mae called a contact from her days in media intelligence—quietly asking for help tracking the number. Ling forwarded the image of the music box to her brother, asking if it looked like the real one from Papa Oct’s vault or a replica. But deep down, she knew.

It was real.

Someone had broken through.

Someone was inside the family’s world.

Outside, the rain picked up again—thin droplets tapping against the windows like fingers trying to get in.

Mae started boiling water for tea. “Let’s not panic. Whoever it is, they want fear. That’s their power.”

Ling nodded. “They’ll get none from me.”

Just then—
A soft click.

Not the kettle.
Not the clock.

The side door.

Mae Koy froze.

Ling’s eyes widened, breath catching in her throat.

“Stay here,” Mae said quietly, grabbing the heavy flashlight from the counter. She crept toward the door, heart pounding.

But she didn’t make it far.

A figure stepped from the shadows of the hallway—black-gloved and masked—and struck Mae hard across the temple with a blunt weapon.

She crumpled instantly.

“MAE!”

Ling screamed and tried to run, but the figure was fast—too fast.

Another person appeared behind her, grabbing her arms and wrenching them behind her back. Ling struggled, kicked, shouted—but she couldn’t overpower them. Not now. Not carrying life inside her.

“LET ME GO!” she screamed, tears burning down her cheeks. “DON’T TOUCH ME!”

The first figure leaned close, whispering in her ear, voice like smoke.

“Shh… Orm’s not here to save you tonight.”

They dragged her toward the back of the house, even as she fought like hell.

Her last glimpse was Mae Koy—unmoving on the floor, blood trailing beneath her hair.

Then everything went black.

It started with a sting.

A dull, throbbing pain bloomed at the side of Mae Koy’s head, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Her vision swam, blurred by the warm stickiness trailing down from her scalp. The house was silent now—unnaturally so.

She blinked, then winced. The ceiling spun above her.

“Ling…” she croaked.

Her hand reached out, trembling, pressing against the kitchen floor to push herself up. The room tilted, her breath catching. But she forced herself upright. She had to.

“Ling?”

No answer.

The lights flickered gently. Somewhere outside, a branch scraped against the window—but it was the silence inside that screamed loudest.

She staggered toward the living room.

No sign of Ling.

No sounds.

Just… absence.

And something worse.

Mae’s eyes widened in horror when she saw the knocked-over mug on the floor, the tea towel halfway across the room… and the back door—ajar.

Panic bloomed like fire in her chest.

“No,” she whispered, fumbling for her phone. Her hands were slick with blood, fingers shaking. But she found the emergency contact list and hit Orm’s name.

Straight to voicemail.

She tried again.

“Come on… come on…” she murmured, tears pricking her eyes.

Still nothing.

Then she hit the second name on her list. One that hadn’t failed her in three decades.

“Octavius…”

The line connected.

The war room at Papa Oct’s countryside estate had gone still. The earlier rush of intel, whispers of names, and tracking of encrypted messages had faded as Orm reviewed new security protocols with Camilla and Lian.

Papa Oct stood by the window, phone in hand, watching the early dusk settle over the vineyards.

Then his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen. His wife.

Mae Koy.

He answered immediately. “Mae?”

Her voice came fractured, thick with pain and panic.

“They took her—Ling—Octavius, they took her—she’s gone—I woke up and she wasn’t—there was someone in the house—”

The world seemed to narrow around him. “What?”

The words echoed.

They took her.

His blood ran cold.

Orm looked up from her seat, instantly reading the change in his expression. “What happened?” she asked, already moving toward him.

Papa Oct didn’t answer her. Not yet.

“Mae, listen to me. Sit down. Do not move. I’m sending people to you now. Do you understand?”

“I… I hit my head,” Mae whispered. “But I’m okay. Orm. Octavius—please—get her back.”

“I will,” he said grimly. “I swear it.”

He hung up.

Orm grabbed his arm. “Who? What happened?”

Papa Oct turned to her, his jaw clenched.

“It’s Ling.”

The air ripped out of the room.

“What do you mean?” Orm said, her voice cracking. “What do you mean it’s Ling?”

Papa Oct’s next words shattered her.

“She’s been taken.”

The silence that followed wasn’t silence—it was a scream swallowed whole.

Orm’s eyes widened. “No. No—she was with Mae—she was safe—”

“Mae’s injured. They broke in. Ling’s gone.”

“No, no—” Orm stumbled back a step, like the world had tilted. “She’s pregnant. She’s carrying our children. They—no—”

She gasped, trying to breathe, but panic wrapped its claws around her chest.

Papa Oct stepped forward, gripping her arms firmly. “Orm. Look at me.”

Her eyes were wild.

“We’re going to find her,” he said, voice firm. “You need to stay with me. Right now. Do you understand?”

Orm’s hands were shaking. Her heart thundered in her ears.

“They took my wife,” she whispered. “They took our babies.”

Papa Oct held her gaze, not flinching. “Then we’ll burn the world down until we get them back.”

A tear broke loose from Orm’s lashes. But something colder settled in her chest.

She nodded once.

“I want every camera. Every drone. Every name.”

Her voice dropped, raw with rage.

“If they touch one hair of my wife I’m gonna end all of them”

_______

The SUV cut through the dark like a bullet, the engine roaring down the private roads that led to the city. Rain smeared against the windshield, matching the tremble in Orm’s chest.

She hadn’t said a word since they left the estate.

Papa Oct drove with lethal focus, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping his phone—directing two tactical teams and three black-ops contacts in the span of ten minutes.

Orm sat rigid in the passenger seat, fists clenched, her jaw locked so tight it hurt. Her mind kept spinning, looping through images that hadn’t happened—but could.

Ling. On the floor. Hurt. Crying out. Alone.

Ling. Bleeding.

The babies.

Orm let out a strangled breath, pressing her palm to her mouth. “I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve—”

“Don’t,” Papa Oct cut in sharply. “This isn’t your fault.”

Orm turned her head slowly, her voice a whisper. “He said he wouldn’t stop until he took everything.”

“And now he’s made his last mistake,” Papa Oct said coldly. “We are going to find her.”

The SUV pulled up to the front gate of the Kwong residence. It was wide open—something that never happened. The guards were already inside, securing the perimeter, but Orm barely noticed.

She was out of the car before it stopped moving.

She ran into the house, boots slamming on the tile, and found Mae Koy sitting on the living room couch, wrapped in a blanket, a thin bandage above her temple. Her hands were still trembling, her face pale as porcelain.

“Mae!” Orm dropped to her knees in front of her. “Mae, are you okay?”

Mae’s eyes filled instantly. “Orm…”

Orm grabbed her hands. “Where is she? What happened?”

Mae's lips trembled. “I—I heard her phone buzz. She said it was just a message, nothing serious, but… her face changed. She tried to brush it off. She didn’t want me to worry.”

“What did it say?” Papa Oct asked from behind, stepping inside.

Mae turned her head slowly, voice cracking. “It said: One wrong move, and your daughter will raise them alone.”

Orm felt the blood drain from her face.

“I told her to let you know, Orm. She said no. She didn’t want to start a panic. She thought it was a scare tactic.”

Mae swallowed. “And then… the lights flickered. I went to check the fuse box. The last thing I remember is a sharp pain.”

She touched her head.

“When I woke up… she was gone.”

Orm’s hands shook as she stood. “How long ago?”

“Forty minutes. Maybe an hour. I—I'm sorry. I—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Orm said quickly, gently helping her lie back against the cushions. “You did what you could.”

She turned to Papa Oct, fire igniting behind her eyes. “They got in. Inside this house. On our watch.”

Papa Oct gave a grim nod. “We sweep every camera. Every door. Every exit point. They couldn’t have gotten far.”

Orm clenched her fists. “I want to see every frame.”

Papa Oct placed a hand on her shoulder. “You will.”

Then his voice dropped low, lethal.

“And when we find where they took her—we don’t wait for backup.”

Orm’s jaw set like stone.

“Then let’s end this.”

____

The room was cold.

Damp.

Ling stirred slowly, her senses crawling back one at a time. Her head pounded. Her limbs felt heavy. The faint scent of mold and concrete filled her nose. And something sharp tugged at her wrists.

She was tied.

Her eyes flew open.

Darkness. A single bulb flickered above her. The walls were grey, unfinished cement. A metal door sat in one corner. No windows.

No way out.

Her heart lurched.

Then—her hands flew to her belly.

The twins. Still there. Still moving. A flutter beneath her palm. Alive.

She exhaled, wild and shaking, clutching herself tightly. “It’s okay,” she whispered, to them, to herself. “Mama’s here. I’ve got you.”

Her eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall.

Not now.

She sat up slowly on the thin mattress beneath her, forcing her mind to clear. Her pulse thudded in her ears. Her whole body ached—but she was awake.

And they had made the mistake of leaving her alive.

Footsteps echoed beyond the door.

She braced herself, jaw clenched, fingers curling into the thin blanket. She would not beg. She would not scream. She would not be weak.

The door creaked open.

Three men stepped inside. One in a grey jacket with a mask over his face, one tall and broad-shouldered in black, and the last… familiar.

Too familiar.

Ling’s breath caught in her throat.

Luca.

The bodyguard. Orm’s bodyguard. The one who held the door open every morning. The one who brought her herbal tea when Orm was working late. The one who smiled at her when she talked to the babies.

“Luca…” she whispered, rage boiling in her blood. “You bastard.”

He flinched—just for a moment—but didn’t respond.

Ling stood, fists clenched at her sides, even with the pain lancing through her back.

“You touched my home,” she growled. “You walked my halls. You smiled at me like we were friends—like you cared.”

Luca looked away.

“I trusted you,” she snapped, stepping forward, unafraid. “Orm trusted you. And now you’re here—what? Helping Thanom get revenge like some sick little lapdog?”

He didn’t move.

The man in the grey jacket stepped forward, pulling something from his coat. A syringe. “She needs to be sedated.”

“I dare you,” Ling snarled, stepping back into a low stance. “Come closer. I’ll make you eat that needle.”

“Careful,” the third man said dryly. “She’s hormonal.”

Ling smiled.

Deadly.

“You have no idea.”

And then—she attacked.

She wasn’t strong. Not fast. But she was fierce. She lunged for the syringe-wielding man, knocking his arm away with enough force to send it flying. He stumbled, unbalanced. She kicked hard at his shin and screamed.

The other man grabbed her arms—but she twisted, her elbow slamming into his gut.

She was breathing hard, wild, one hand protectively over her bump.

And still, she stood.

“This is your only warning,” she spat, chest heaving. “You lay a hand on my children—I’ll kill you. All of you.”

Luca stepped forward finally. His voice was quiet. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

She scoffed. “Says the man helping a psychopath kidnap a pregnant woman.”

“I didn’t sign up for this,” he said.

“You’re in it now,” Ling hissed.

The man in black came at her again—but this time, she didn’t flinch. She ducked, twisting away just enough to make him miss. But the other grabbed her shoulder—

Pain burst through her as she was forced back down to the mattress.

Her vision blurred.

But even then—she didn’t scream.

She clutched her belly like a shield. Her body trembling, sweat cold on her brow—but her will?

Unshaken.

“Orm’s going to kill you,” she said through gritted teeth. “And if she doesn’t… I will.”

They left the room, locking the door behind them.

Ling lay there, breath shallow, eyes burning.

But her hands never left her bump.

“You hold on for me,” she whispered to her babies. “Mama’s not done fighting.”

The metal door creaked again—softer this time.

Ling sat upright immediately, every muscle tensed. The pain still echoed in her back and shoulders, but she was alert. Ready.

When she saw who stepped in, her jaw tightened.

Luca.

But this time, he wasn’t flanked by the others. No weapons. No mask. Just him, his eyes shadowed, his hands loosely at his sides.

She didn’t say anything.

He stepped forward slowly, stopping just a few feet from her. “I brought you some water,” he said, setting a bottle gently on the ground.

Ling didn’t move.

He looked at her belly—his jaw twitching. “Are they… are they okay?”

Her eyes blazed. “You don’t get to ask that.”

Luca winced, looking down. “I didn’t know they’d go this far. I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think?” she snapped. “You’re a trained guard, Luca. You held a loaded weapon near my family every single day—and now you’re working with the men trying to destroy it.”

“I didn’t know Thanom had escaped,” he said quickly. “I only worked with Camilla and Marcus. I thought it was just intel gathering—pressure tactics. Not this.”

Ling’s voice was low and sharp. “You helped them get into our home.”

“I tried to warn Orm,” he said, desperation bleeding through his tone. “The night the package was intercepted. I tried to say something—but by then, it was already in motion.”

“And now you’re here.” She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want? A redemption arc?”

Luca flinched again. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

Ling laughed—a bitter, disbelieving sound. “You should’ve thought about that before I woke up in a concrete box.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but before he could, another set of footsteps echoed down the hall.

Ling froze.

The lock clicked.

The door opened.

And in stepped Marcus.

Clean suit. Polished shoes. Cold, calm eyes that locked onto Ling the second he entered—like she was a painting in a gallery he already thought he owned.

“Ah,” he said softly. “Awake at last.”

Luca instinctively stepped back, his posture shifting subtly.

Marcus glanced at him, mildly amused. “You’re still here?”

“She’s dehydrated,” Luca said quickly. “She needs rest.”

Marcus raised a brow. “She’s pregnant, not porcelain. And she’s not here to nap. She’s here because I was promised a reckoning.”

He turned back to Ling and smiled.

And Ling, never one to be silent, stood slowly—her shoulders squared, even if her hands trembled.

“You’re not getting a reckoning,” she said. “You’re getting a war.”

Marcus’s eyes lit with a sick kind of admiration. “That’s what I always liked about you, Ling. So much fire… for someone so small.”

She stepped forward, one protective hand over her belly. “Touch me or my children, and I will set you on fire myself.”

Luca moved between them slightly. “That’s enough. She’s not yours to threaten.”

Marcus tilted his head. “I wonder when your loyalty started to slip.”

“Maybe when you started threatening unborn children,” Luca snapped.

Marcus’s smile vanished.

He turned slowly toward Luca. “Get out.”

Luca didn’t move.

“I said get out,” Marcus repeated, his voice cold.

Ling watched Luca hesitate—his jaw tight, his stance rigid. But eventually, he turned and walked toward the door.

Before he left, his eyes met Ling’s. And for a moment, just a flicker, she saw something.

Regret.

Then he was gone.

And she was alone with the monster.

Marcus took another step forward, his voice soft, almost mocking. “Orm should’ve picked me. You know that, don’t you?”

Ling’s mouth curled into a deadly smile. “But she didn’t. She chose me. And you’ve been unraveling ever since.”

Marcus’s face twitched—rage flickering beneath the calm.

Ling stepped forward, eyes blazing.

“You’re not a storm, Marcus. You’re just a sad little man with a bruised ego and too much money.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then he smiled again. “We’ll see how long you’re still brave… when she doesn’t come.”

He turned and walked out.

The door slammed shut behind him.

And Ling was left in the dark again—heart racing, fury burning, her babies kicking in defiance.

She wasn’t afraid.

She was ready.

______

Orm stood in front of the surveillance wall in the estate’s underground control room, her face illuminated by flickering footage from every traffic camera, drone feed, and security checkpoint within a 50-mile radius.

Her fingers flew across the touchscreen monitor, zooming in on one grainy segment—an unmarked van pulling out of a service road not far from the Kwong residence. No license plate. Windows tinted. But Orm recognized the driving style. It wasn’t random. It was trained.

“Freeze,” she said to Jayden, who hovered beside her. “Reverse. Slow-mo.”

Jayden did.

And there it was.

A brief flicker—a silhouette in the backseat. A pale profile. A braid.

Orm’s heart nearly stopped.

“Ling,” she whispered.

Jayden didn’t speak. He just reached for his earpiece and relayed the coordinates.

Papa Oct was already halfway across the room, talking rapidly to two men Orm didn’t know. Tactical mercs. Off-the-record operatives. Faces that wouldn’t appear on any official payroll.

“This road leads to a cluster of abandoned textile warehouses,” Jayden said. “Three exits. Forest cover on two sides. No cameras in the compound.”

“Perfect place to vanish,” Orm muttered.

“Or stage a massacre,” Papa Oct added, voice like flint.

Orm turned to face the team, every inch of her trembling with controlled rage. “We move now. No delays. No negotiations. We go in quiet—but we come out with her.”

Jayden nodded. “Snipers positioned?”

“Two in the trees by the east gate,” Papa Oct confirmed. “And one on the roof of the warehouse.”

“Lian’s leading the rear unit. She’ll sweep the back corridors with heat sensors,” Jayden added.

Orm holstered her pistol. “I’m going in first.”

Papa Oct placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Not alone.”

Orm met his eyes. “You don’t get to stop me. She’s my wife. Those are my children.”

“I’m not stopping you,” Papa Oct said softly. “I’m going with you.”

Ling sat in the corner of the cold, cement room—ankles scraped raw, wrists burning from the zip ties behind her back. Her lip was swollen, her left cheek red. Not from Thanom.

From Marcus.

She’d spat at him when he tried to touch her hair.

Now, she sat still. Shoulders drawn back. Belly heavy with life. Her eyes burned with fury, not fear.

The door swung open again.

Marcus entered first, smug and jittery. He was trying to act like he had power—but his nerves betrayed him. Ling could see it in the way his fingers tapped against his thigh, how he kept glancing behind him.

And then he stepped in.

Thanom.

Cool, collected, dressed in grey with black gloves and the calm of a man who thought he already owned the ending.

Ling’s stomach turned.

Thanom smiled at her like she was a museum piece. Something he used to covet. Something he was owed.

“Lingling Kwong,” he said smoothly. “Still so full of fire.”

She said nothing.

Thanom looked at her belly. “I see Orm’s been busy.”

Ling stiffened.

Marcus took a slow step toward her, crouching to eye level. “You know, you didn’t have to make this so difficult. We just wanted a little cooperation.”

She spat at his shoes.

His hand came fast, slapping her hard across the face.

“Enough,” Thanom said flatly. “Don’t touch her again.”

Marcus blinked. “I was just—”

“I said enough.”

Marcus backed off, muttering under his breath.

Thanom approached slowly, kneeling down beside her.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“She should’ve been mine,” he said. “And now she’s giving you the life that was meant for me. The house. The children. My future.”

Ling met his eyes, unflinching. “She was never yours. Not for a second. Orm is mine, and always will be you asshole”

Thanom’s gaze flicked to her stomach again.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Because what she built with you? I’m going to tear down. Piece by piece. And I’ll start with those babies.”

Ling’s entire body coiled with rage.

“You lay one hand on them,” she hissed, “and I swear I’ll kill you myself.”

Thanom’s smile thinned. “You don’t have the strength.”

Then—a noise.

Metal clinking. Boots on concrete.

Marcus stiffened. “Did you hear that?”

Thanom stood slowly, his head tilting.

Ling’s heart surged.

She knew that rhythm. That power.

Orm was coming.

Hell was about to walk through the door—and it was wearing black combat boots and a promise.

Marcus pressed his ear to the metal door again, sweat glistening on his temple. “Something’s wrong. That’s more than one vehicle.”

Thanom didn’t flinch. He stood in the shadows with his hands behind his back, watching Ling like she was some ancient prophecy finally catching up with him.

“It’s just noise,” he murmured. “They won’t get this far.”

Marcus turned sharply. “Are you out of your mind? That’s Papa Oct’s personal fleet—I just saw the insignia. They’re here.”

Thanom finally looked at him. “So what do you suggest? We run?”

Marcus stared at him. “Yes!”

Thanom gave a quiet, amused laugh. “No. You run, Marcus. That’s all you’ve ever been good at. Me?” He turned to the wall and opened a concealed drawer, retrieving a small pistol. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Marcus’s eyes darted between Thanom and the door. “We were supposed to scare her. That was the job. Not this. Not the wife. Not—”

“Shut up,” Thanom snapped, voice like a knife. “You’re already in too deep.”

A beat passed. Then—

BOOM.

The door to the warehouse blasted open with military precision, smoke rushing in like a storm cloud.

Marcus shrieked and bolted, disappearing into the back corridors like a coward rat.

Thanom didn’t move.

Boots thundered inside.

And through the smoke—

Orm. Her eyes locked on Ling in an instant. 

Tied. Bleeding. Pale.

Her hands dropped to her sides as two guards flanked her—but no one moved before she did.

“Ling, baby” she breathed.

Ling’s eyes widened. “Orm—”

Then Orm saw the blood on her wife’s face.

Everything stopped.

Her body stilled. Her chest rose once, slow and deadly.

Then the shift happened.

Her whole posture snapped into something feral. Something unstoppable.

“Cut her loose!” she roared to the guards. “NOW.”

Two men rushed to Ling, slicing through the ties, supporting her gently.

Orm stepped forward like death itself. Her voice was low and vicious. “Who touched her?”

Thanom raised the pistol—but he was too slow.

Papa Oct’s shot rang out first.

The gun flew from Thanom’s hand, skidding across the concrete.

He didn’t flinch. He smiled.

“Welcome home, Kornnaphat,” he said darkly.

But Orm wasn’t listening.

She crossed the space between them in three strides and punched Thanom square in the face, the crack of bone echoing through the warehouse.

He staggered, stunned.

Then Orm hit him again.

And again.

“DON’T YOU EVER—” Punch. “TOUCH—” Punch. “MY—” Punch. “FAMILY!”

It took two guards and Papa Oct to pull her off him.

Ling, now safely in the arms of a guard, reached for her.

“Orm,” she said hoarsely. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

That voice—soft, trembling—cut through the roaring in Orm’s ears like a lifeline.

She turned instantly, the haze of rage parting just enough to see Ling standing, bruised, unsteady, but alive. Her wife. Her world.

Orm rushed to her without thinking, dropping to her knees, cupping Ling’s face with trembling hands. “You’re safe,” she breathed, her voice raw. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Ling’s tears spilled over, her lips quivering. “You found me…”

Orm’s forehead met hers, her touch impossibly gentle. “I will always find you,” she whispered. “Even if I have to burn down the world.”

Behind them, Thanom groaned—broken, bloodied, trying to move.

Papa Oct stepped over him, gaze sharp with disdain. He looked down at the man who had haunted his family for far too long.

A faint, bitter smile curled his lips.

But before a single word left his mouth—

Orm was there.

Like a ghost. Like vengeance.

She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t flinch.

She raised her gun—calm, steady—and fired one clean shot into Thanom’s skull.

A sharp crack echoed through the warehouse.

He collapsed—lifeless. Silence followed.

Orm leaned in just enough to whisper coldly, “I told you I’d put a bullet in your skull.”

Then she turned on her heel, the barrel still hot, and walked back toward the fading light at the warehouse entrance—toward the only thing that mattered.

Ling was being helped outside by two guards, her arms still shaking.

Orm dropped the weapon and reached her before anyone else could.

Papa Oct didn’t look away from Thanom’s body. His voice was ice.

“Bag him. And find Marcus. Dead or alive.”

The guards moved with precision.

But Orm? She had already wrapped her arms around Ling, shielding her from the blood, the pain, the memory.

Her hand pressed over her wife’s belly. Two heartbeats. Two tiny lives.

Alive.

Because this time—this time—she got there in time.

And she would never, ever be too late again.

________

The rain had slowed to a mist as Orm guided Ling carefully toward the waiting SUV.

Every few steps, she’d glance down at her—checking the way she moved, the way she breathed, her hand never leaving Ling’s waist.

Ling leaned into her wife’s side, limping slightly, blood drying at the corner of her mouth. But her eyes—despite the exhaustion, despite the pain—never left Orm’s.

“Are you okay?” Orm asked for the third time, voice barely above a whisper.

Ling gave a shaky breath. “I will be. Now.”

The back door opened, and Orm helped her in, wrapping a soft wool blanket around her shoulders before climbing in beside her.

The moment the door shut, Ling curled into her.

Orm held her like something sacred, her arms wrapping tightly around her, their foreheads pressed together in silence.

“I thought I lost you,” Orm whispered, her voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t lose you.”

“You didn’t,” Ling replied, eyes glistening. “You came for me. Just like you said you would. We are grateful my love”

Orm kissed her temple, her jaw, her cheek—soft, slow, worshipful. “We’re going home. No one will ever touch you again. I swear it. I love you” putting her hand on her wife’s belly to keep them closer to her. This was her family, and she was ready to do everything to keep them safe.

_____

Papa Oct stepped out of the warehouse, removing his gloves, his expression unreadable.

His men were already in motion—combing through digital leads, surveillance hits, and underground chatter. Jayden was on the phone with three contacts at once, while Lian monitored every incoming feed from their international assets.

It didn’t take long.

Marcus had never been as smart as his uncle. Arrogant, yes. Careful? No.

They tracked him to a penthouse in a luxury hotel downtown—anonymously rented, but flagged after one of his fake IDs pinged during a discreet grocery delivery.

Papa Oct didn’t wait.

Within twenty minutes, the hotel was surrounded. No sirens. No warning.

Just silence, and the click of loaded weapons.

When the door burst open, Marcus was mid-sentence, phone in hand—calling someone who would never answer again.

He turned just as Papa Oct stepped in, flanked by two armed guards.

“Hello, Marcus,” he said coolly. “Your uncle sends his regards.”

Marcus’s eyes widened. “Wait—no, I—”

A single shot rang out.

Clean. Final.

He dropped instantly.

Papa Oct didn’t blink.

“Burn everything connected to him,” he ordered his men. “Erase his name. His accounts. His legacy.”

He turned, walking out without another word.

It was over.

_______

The gates opened before the SUV even slowed.

Orm’s grip on Ling never loosened—not during the drive, not when the car rolled up the private driveway, and certainly not when the front doors of the estate opened and Mae Koy came rushing out into the night.

“Ling!” Mae gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she saw the blood on Ling’s lip, the bruises on her arms, the fatigue written all over her face.

“Mama,” Ling whispered, then broke.

Orm stepped out quickly and helped Ling out of the SUV. Mae rushed forward, wrapping them both in a trembling embrace.

“You’re staying here tonight,” Mae said, no room for argument in her voice. “Don’t even think about going back to that house.”

“We’ll keep everything secure,” Papa Oct added, standing behind them. “Jayden and Lian are already setting up triple surveillance back at your place. Tonight… you rest.”

Mae reached out, gently brushing Ling’s hair back, inspecting every inch of her like a mother checking for injuries she wasn’t sure she could bear to see.

“You need warm soup and three pillows,” she muttered, voice cracking as she blinked back tears. “And Orm needs something stronger than tea but softer than revenge. Come inside.”

Orm gave her a faint smile. “I’ll take the tea for now Mae thanks.”

They followed Mae into the house. The warmth of the estate wrapped around them like a familiar blanket—low lighting, soft music playing somewhere in the distance, and the faint scent of lemongrass and jasmine floating from the kitchen.

Mae immediately led Ling to the couch, fussing like only a mother-in-law could.

“Feet up. Blanket over. You, sit next to her, Orm. You’re pale.”

“I’m fine,” Orm started.

Mae gave her a look.

Orm sat.

Papa Oct returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of herbal tea and a silent nod of approval to Mae. Then, without a word, he placed one hand gently on Ling’s shoulder. The gesture said everything he couldn’t.

“You’re safe now, darling,” Mae whispered, kissing Ling’s forehead, then Orm’s. “You’re home.”

Later—after warm soup lovingly prepared by Mae Koy’s trembling hands, after soft pajamas and gentle sponge wipes to clean the dried blood from Ling’s lip, after whispered reassurances too numerous to count—Orm and Ling lay curled together in the guest bedroom.

They were wrapped beneath Mae’s thickest quilt, the fabric holding more than just warmth—it held years of family, memory, and quiet protection. It held them now like a shield.

Ling lay nestled in the crook of Orm’s arms, her head resting on her chest, her breaths finally even. Orm hadn’t let go of her once.

But now, in the quiet darkness, with the world paused around them, she shifted just slightly—just enough to slide her hand over Ling’s bump.

She closed her eyes, her fingers spreading wide, covering as much as she could. Her thumb traced soft, trembling circles.

“Hi, little ones,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “It’s Mama.”

The babies didn’t stir—but Orm didn’t need them to.

“I was so scared,” she continued, her forehead resting against Ling’s temple. “So scared I’d lost you. That someone took you away from me before I even got to hold you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“I’ve never felt fear like that,” she said, her voice barely a breath. “It hollowed me out. It made everything else stop. But I swear to you—I will never let it happen again.”

She swallowed, her hand pressing gently.

“I will protect you. I will protect your Mommy. With everything I have. With every breath. I don’t care what I have to destroy to keep you safe. I will build a world for you—brick by brick—where no one ever makes you afraid.”

A soft flutter moved beneath her palm. Orm’s breath hitched.

“See? You’re still listening,” she whispered, a small, broken smile blooming on her lips. “You’re safe now. Mommy’s safe. We’re together.”

She kissed Ling’s forehead, then pressed one more kiss to the center of the bump.

“Sleep, my stars. You’re home.”

And finally, finally, so did she.

Wrapped in the weight of love. In the breath of healing.

With her world tucked safely in her arms.

________________

Downstairs, the study glowed with low lamplight and the scent of old leather and strong tea. Papa Oct stood near the tall window, watching the rain fade into mist outside the glass. His jacket was draped over the armchair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his posture finally—finally—less rigid.

Mae Koy entered quietly, a steaming mug in each hand.

“They’re asleep,” she said softly. “Curled up like they’re still part of each other.”

Papa Oct turned, his features gentler now, though exhaustion still clung to him like armor he hadn’t yet removed. He took one of the mugs, brushing his fingers against hers.

“Thank you.”

Mae sat down across from him, her eyes watching him carefully. “It’s over, isn’t it?”

He nodded. Slowly. With weight.

“Marcus was found near the river. It was clean. Precise. The kind of end a man like him doesn’t even deserve.”

Mae’s breath caught faintly. “And Thanom?”

Papa Oct’s jaw clenched before relaxing. “Taken care of. The official story is an armed escape attempt. Guards neutralized the threat. No loose ends.”

“And the media?”

“I’ve made a few calls.” He took a slow sip. “They’ll run with the narrative I gave them—Thanom’s prison corruption ring, Marcus his outside operative, and a foiled attempt at a high-profile political kidnapping.”

Mae raised a brow. “A kidnapping?”

He gave a ghost of a smile. “A fabricated one. A failed plan. Nothing that ever reached the family. No names. No photographs. Just enough to explain the noise.”

“And Ling?”

“Completely cleared. Her name won’t even brush the story. I won’t let her—or Orm—be touched by this again.”

Mae reached over, gently placing her hand atop his.

He looked down at their fingers. “They deserve peace now. They’ve earned it a hundred times over.”

Mae’s voice was soft, but certain. “And so have you.”

He didn’t answer for a moment. Just watched the steam curl from his mug. Then he looked at her—really looked at her—and his eyes softened.

“Our daughter… she almost lost everything today.”

“But she didn’t,” Mae said. “Because she’s your daughter. And because she loves like you do—with fire.”

“She’s stronger than I ever was,” he murmured.

“She’s not stronger than both of us,” Mae corrected gently. “And now, she doesn’t have to be.”

Papa Oct leaned back in his chair, a quiet exhale leaving his chest. “Then maybe, for the first time in a long time… we can breathe.”

Mae smiled.

And outside the window, the clouds began to break—just enough for a sliver of moonlight to find them.

The war was over.

Now came the healing.

Now came home.