Jora huffed softly at his grumble, not bothering to hide the fact that she’d noticed how much harder the walk had been than he’d let on. Her hand lingered at his side a moment longer than necessary, steadying him even after he was settled. “You absolutely would have fallen,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “And then you’d pretend it was part of the plan.”

His grin tugged a quiet laugh out of her despite herself. She shook her head, fingers smoothing the blanket where it was tucked beneath his chin. “Good,” she replied dryly. “Because I’m not done keeping you alive yet.” But there was warmth in it—fond, fierce, unmistakable.

When he took her hand, her grip tightened instinctively, thumb brushing over his knuckles. The sheepish look on his face softened her expression immediately. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “We do.” It wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t need to be. It was simply true.

At his suggestion, she glanced back toward the table, then down at him again. “You didn’t interrupt,” she said, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his temple. “You’re allowed to exist in your own house, injured or not.” Still, she eased her hand from his slowly, reluctantly, making sure he was settled before straightening.

As she saw his eyes grow heavy, her voice dropped. “Sleep,” she instructed softly. “I’ll be right here.”

She did move back toward the table—but not far. Every few moments, her gaze flicked back to the couch, to the steady rise and fall of his chest, to the man who scared her half to death and loved her just as fiercely.

Jora watched him slip under almost mid-sentence, the teasing grin fading into something slack and peaceful as sleep finally claimed him. She lingered there a moment, hand resting lightly against his shoulder, listening to his breathing even out. Only when she was sure he was truly out did she straighten and quietly return to the kitchen.

By the time the light outside began to soften and tilt toward evening, Jora was elbow-deep in preparation. A pot simmered low over the fire, the scent of herbs and meat slowly filling the room. Her mother stood nearby, passing her chopped vegetables and murmuring the occasional comment, but Jora’s attention kept drifting back toward the couch.

A small rustle sounded from the other room before Sage stirred—tiny feet padding across the floor, followed by a sleepy sniffle. Jora glanced up just in time to see Lyra emerge, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded, clutching a corner of her blanket.

“There you are,” Jora murmured instinctively, softening immediately. Lyra paused when she spotted Sage awake on the couch, her face lighting up as she toddled over without hesitation.

“Daddy,” she whispered loudly, climbing up with all the care a child thought she was using. Jora held her breath for half a second, ready to intervene, but Lyra settled carefully against Sage’s side instead, small hand patting his arm like she was checking he was real.

When Jora noticed Sage was awake too, relief flickered across her face, followed by that familiar, exasperated fondness. She wiped her hands on a cloth and crossed the room, stopping beside the couch and crouching slightly so she was level with both of them.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You’re not allowed to apologize for sleeping,” she added before Sage could speak, one brow lifting knowingly. Then she looked at Lyra, brushing a curl away from her face. “And you’re supposed to nap longer than him, little menace.”

Lyra just grinned.

Jora reached out, gently adjusting the blanket around both of them—habit more than necessity—then brushed her thumb over Sage’s unbandaged knuckles. “You were out for a while,” she murmured. “Sun’s going down. Everything’s quiet.”

Her gaze flicked briefly back toward the kitchen. “Selene’s keeping herself busy, and my mom’s helping with dinner,” she added, then looked back at Sage, voice lowering again. “So you’re not missing anything important.”

She studied his face for a moment, then glanced down at Lyra tucked against him, her expression softening further. “How do you feel?”

Jora let out a soft huff of laughter, the kind that slipped out before she could stop it, and shook her head at the pair of them. The sight—Sage propped up just enough to be comfortable, Lyra glued to his side like she belonged there—did something warm and steady in her chest.

“You two are conspiring,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “I can feel it.” Still, her hand slid from his knee up to his arm, fingers curling there in a familiar, grounding touch as he settled in beside her.

She glanced at him when he agreed so easily, searching his face the way she always did now—checking color, tension, the way he held himself. Satisfied for the moment, she relaxed a fraction, leaning her shoulder lightly against his.

“Good,” she murmured. “Because I’m holding you to it. No heroic nonsense, no ‘I feel fine’ followed by you collapsing two steps later.” Her thumb brushed a small, absent-minded circle against his sleeve. “You rest. You heal. We’ll handle the rest.”

Her gaze softened as she looked down at Lyra, smiling at the way she’d tucked herself in so snugly. Jora reached out to gently tuck a blanket edge closer around her.

“She’s happy,” Jora said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. Then she looked back up at Sage, meeting his eyes. “And you’re here. That’s all I needed tonight.”

Jora felt something in her chest loosen at the sound of his laugh.

It was quiet, almost fragile, but it was him—not pain, not adrenaline, not the hollow aftermath of fear. Just Sage. And the fact that he could still smile, still tease, still look at Lyra like she was the center of his world made her throat tighten in a way she didn’t quite trust herself to speak around.

She let out a small laugh of her own at his comment, shaking her head as she glanced down at Lyra. “Oh, I know,” Jora said lightly, though there was unmistakable affection in her tone. “If there’s trouble to be found, she’ll trip over it with a plan already half-formed.”

Lyra beamed at that, clearly pleased with herself, and Jora reached out to smooth a hand over her hair, fingers lingering there protectively. Her gaze flicked back to Sage when he squeezed the girl gently, watching the way his expression softened, how that warmth lit him from the inside out.

Gods, she loved him.

When he admitted he just hadn’t wanted to sit alone, her smile faded into something gentler, more understanding. She shifted slightly so he could lean more comfortably against her, one arm coming around his back without hesitation. “You’re not alone,” she murmured, pressing a brief kiss to his temple. “Not now. Not ever.”

She rested her cheek against his head when he leaned into her shoulder, breathing him in, grounding herself in the simple fact that he was here. Alive. Warm. Real.