Jora watched him with that soft, quiet fondness that had become second nature lately, her gaze following the practiced way he shifted Caspian to his shoulder. There was something so grounding about seeing Sage move like that—confident, gentle, instinctive. She reached out without really thinking, her hand resting lightly between Caspian’s shoulder blades, rubbing slow, careful circles as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey there, little man,” she murmured under her breath, voice warm as she felt the rise and fall of his tiny breaths. Her eyes lifted back to Sage when he spoke, that wider smile of his tugging one from her in return. “Me either,” she echoed softly, meaning far more than just his words.

At his comment about three being plenty, she let out a quiet laugh, leaning her forehead briefly against his arm. “Gods, can you imagine?” she mused. “Another two all at once? I think I’d just lie down on the floor and accept my fate.” There was humor there, but also sincerity.

She tilted her head, thoughtful. “Three feels… right,” Jora said after a moment. “Enough chaos to keep things lively, enough love to fill every corner of the house.” Her thumb brushed lightly against Caspian’s back as if to punctuate the thought. “They’ll never be alone. They’ll always have each other.”

Her gaze softened again, lingering on the baby between them. “That matters,” she added quietly. “Growing up together. Knowing someone’s always in your corner.”

She leaned back into Sage, content, certain. Whatever the future held, this—them—was already more than enough.

Jora let out a soft, breathy laugh at his groan, shaking her head as she leaned a little closer to him. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re suffering,” she teased quietly. “You love being outnumbered. Keeps you on your toes.”

She glanced down at Caspian just as his little face began to scrunch, a tiny, warning sound breaking from his throat before it quickly escalated into a full, indignant cry. Jora sighed fondly, immediately shifting her hand to rub his back more firmly. “Ah—there it is,” she murmured. “Speak of the devil.”

She shot Sage a sideways look, one brow lifting with unmistakable amusement. “See?” she said softly. “High maintenance already. Takes after you.” Her lips twitched as she adjusted Caspian in Sage’s arms, instinctively moving closer, pressing her shoulder against her husband. “Needs constant attention, dramatic about everything, very loud when he’s displeased.”

Caspian wailed again for emphasis, and Jora chuckled under her breath, gently shushing him. “You’re safe, you’re fed, you’re warm,” she told him patiently. “But no—clearly that’s not enough.” She leaned in, brushing a kiss to the top of his head. “Just like your father.”

When Sage’s tone softened, hers did too. She nodded slowly, eyes lingering on their son as his cries began to ebb with the steady comfort. “They do,” she agreed quietly. “And they’ll have it. Not because everything will be easy… but because they’ll always be loved.”

She rested her head lightly against Sage’s shoulder, one hand still on Caspian’s back, grounding all of them together. “That’s what makes it perfect.”

Jora let his protest roll over her with a soft smile, barely sparing him a glance as her attention shifted fully to Kaiya. The little girl lay quiet against her chest, wide-eyed and observant, so different from her brother’s brief storm. Jora’s fingers traced slow, soothing patterns along Kaiya’s back, thumb brushing gently at her shoulder.

“See,” she murmured softly, voice warm and affectionate, “this one’s my balance.” Her lips curved as she looked down at her daughter, eyes shining. “So patient. Watching everything. Like she’s already decided she needs to understand the world before she complains about it.”

Kaiya gave a small, almost questioning sound, her fingers curling into the fabric of Jora’s shirt. Jora smiled wider, lowering her head to brush her nose against Kaiya’s soft hair. “You’re my calm one, aren’t you?” she whispered. “My steady little star.”

When Sage finished settling Caspian and leaned back in, Jora finally glanced up at him, amusement still lingering in her eyes. “Don’t worry,” she added lightly. “They balance each other out. Drama and peace. Fire and quiet.” She shifted slightly so Kaiya was nestled more securely between them, careful and practiced.

As Sage leaned against her, she rested her cheek briefly against his shoulder, still rubbing slow circles over Kaiya’s back. “It really is,” she agreed softly. “All of it. Even the noise. Even the chaos.”

Her gaze drifted back down to their daughter, voice dropping to a tender hush. “Especially this.”

Jora huffed a quiet laugh at his snort, tilting her head just enough to give him a look over the curve of Kaiya’s blanket. “I never said I wasn’t,” she replied lightly. “I just learned how to aim the storm.” There was fondness in it, not denial—she knew herself too well for that.

Kaiya’s alert little gaze had her attention again almost immediately. Jora softened, her voice dropping without her even meaning to. “She already thinks so deeply,” she murmured, thumb brushing gently along her daughter’s side. “Like she’s listening to everything at once and filing it all away.” Her lips curved into a proud, almost reverent smile. “You’re right. She’s going to be sharp. Thoughtful.”

When Sage shifted closer to see her better, Jora adjusted instinctively, angling Kaiya so they both had space. She watched Sage’s fingers brush their daughter’s cheek, her chest tightening in that familiar, overwhelming way. “You see it too,” she said quietly. “That curiosity. That calm.”

At his comment about chaos keeping them young, she let out a soft, breathy laugh and leaned her shoulder into his. “If that’s the case,” she teased, “we’re going to be immortal.” Then, more softly, more honestly: “I don’t mind it. The noise. The mess. It means they’re here. It means they’re alive and safe and ours.”

Her gaze dropped back to Kaiya, eyes warm and fierce all at once. “No matter how loud it gets,” she added, almost like a vow, “they’ll always know they’re loved.”

Jora smiled at his laugh, that familiar warmth blooming in her chest as she shook her head lightly. “Reckless has its place,” she teased gently. “Someone had to run headfirst into the storm so the rest of us could learn where not to step.” Her thumb brushed absently over Kaiya's tiny back as the baby shifted, eyes still wide and curious.

She followed his gaze, watching their daughter take in everything with that quiet intensity. “She won’t,” Jora said with certainty. “Not here. Not with you showing her the world the way you do.” Her voice softened. “Curiosity survives when it’s safe to ask questions.”

At his comment about immortality, she let out a soft laugh too, leaning into his side. “Forever wouldn’t scare me either,” she admitted quietly. “Not if it looks like this.” Her eyes moved over their children, then back to him. “Peace changes things. Makes even eternity feel… gentle.”

She rested her head against his shoulder, just breathing him in, the moment stretching comfortably between them.