Jora didn’t let him pull away far—only enough to see his face, to read the fear he was trying so hard to keep contained. When he rested his forehead against her shoulder again, she shifted instinctively, bracing him, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of his head.

“Hey,” she murmured, soft but insistent.

She drew back just enough to speak against his temple, her voice low and unwavering. “Listen to me. None of this is because of you. Not her. Not the danger. You didn’t summon this by surviving.” Her fingers threaded into his hair, anchoring him. “What happened to you was done to you. The fact that she followed the trail of what she lost doesn’t make you responsible.”

When he whispered about not wanting anyone hurt, her jaw tightened—not in anger at him, but at the thought itself.

“No,” Jora said gently but firmly. “And that’s exactly why this isn’t cowardice. Cowardice would be thinking only of yourself. You’re thinking of Lyra. Of the baby. Of me.” She pressed her palm flat to his chest, right over his heart. “That’s love. That’s strength. Even if it feels like fear right now.”

She guided his hand, deliberately, down to rest over her stomach again, holding it there. “You’re not endangering us by existing,” she continued softly. “And you’re not asking me to fight alone. I’m choosing to stand with you. That’s a difference you need to understand.”

Jora leaned her forehead against his, eyes closing briefly as she breathed him in. “If it comes to a fight, we’ll decide together what that looks like. There is no version of this where you’re forced to face her alone—or where I rush into danger without thinking.”

Her thumb brushed slow, grounding strokes across his knuckles. “And if the safest choice is to hide, or run, or wait? That’s not failure. That’s survival. You’ve already proven you’re very good at that.”

She pulled him into her again, holding him close, protective without smothering. “I don’t need you to be fearless,” she whispered. “I need you here. Breathing. Thinking. Loving us. That’s how we get through this.”

Outside, the night pressed in, heavy and uncertain. But inside her arms, Jora held him like an anchor driven deep.

“We’ll make it end okay,” she said quietly, not as a hope—but as a vow.