Jora followed his gaze to the window, imagining the island the way it always lived in her chest—salt on the air, green shadows under the trees, the steady, patient rhythm of the waves. Home. Not because it was untouched or perfect, but because it had held them when nothing else did.

“It already teaches them,” she said softly, thumb brushing slow circles over the back of his hand. “Without asking anything in return. That’s the kind of place it is.” Her lips curved faintly. “It won’t demand more than they can give. And if it ever does…” she glanced down at the babies, then back up at him, eyes steady. “They won’t face it alone.”

At his sigh, she leaned in a little closer, resting her forehead briefly against his shoulder. There was peace right now—real, fragile, precious peace—and she intended to protect it with everything she had.

When he kissed her head and promised, her breath hitched just slightly. She smiled, warm and sure, lifting her face to look at him. “We will,” she echoed quietly. Then, with the barest tease in her voice, she added, “And for the record—you’re Sage. I’m the one who keeps them happy.”

Her fingers tightened gently in his, content, grounded. For now, this was enough.

Jora watched the way his eyes lingered, the way his shoulders softened when he spoke about the island. She could almost feel it too—the pull of the tide, the quiet promise of green and salt and space enough to breathe. Home was waiting. It always did.

“It raised us as much as we raised ourselves,” she murmured, voice warm. “Taught us when to push, when to listen. I trust it with them.” Her gaze drifted to the babies, her smile gentling. “They’ll grow strong there. Grounded.”

At his joke, she scoffed softly, turning just enough to bump her forehead against his shoulder. “Chopped liver?” she repeated, amused. “Hardly.” She tilted her head to look up at him, eyes bright with affection. “You’re the heart of this family, Sage. I just… keep the wheels from falling off.”

Her fingers slid into his again, squeezing once. “They’ll know that. The island will know that too.”

Jora smiled at his first words, a quiet, knowing curve of her lips as she nodded along. “It did,” she agreed softly. “I think that’s the strange thing about this place… it doesn’t matter how old you are when you arrive. It still finds the cracks you didn’t know were there and fills them in.” Her gaze drifted briefly, thoughtful. “Or forces you to learn how to fill them yourself.”

At his protest, she let out a low, warm laugh, leaning into him just a little more. “Don’t try to dodge it,” she teased gently. “You’re the heart whether you like it or not.” Her thumb brushed over the back of his hand. “I might keep things moving, but you’re the reason everyone slows down enough to feel safe.”

When he accepted it with that grin, her smile softened, pride shining plainly in her eyes. “Good,” she murmured. “Because we need a good heart.”

Her fingers tightened around his hand as he spoke again, and she nodded, emotion swelling quietly in her chest.

Jora listened to him with a quiet, thoughtful expression, her eyes softening as his words settled in. She nodded slowly. “You’re right,” she admitted. “It doesn’t do the work for you. It just… gives you the space to choose who you want to be.” Her thumb traced idle circles against his arm. “I think that’s why it feels so alive. It watches. It waits.”

She smiled when he kissed her forehead, a small, breathy laugh leaving her. “You’re proving my point,” she murmured fondly. “A good heart doesn’t even realize how much it’s doing. It just does it.”

Jora leaned fully into him then, her shoulder resting against his chest, content to stay there. Her gaze drifted over their children before returning to him. “Hard things will come,” she said quietly, not fearful—just honest. “But they won’t come alone. We’ll meet them together.”

Her fingers curled into his, steady and sure. “And so will they. With us behind them.”

Jora smiled at that, the kind that lingered quietly instead of bursting out all at once. “It does,” she agreed softly. “It listens back. Like it knows when you’re treating it with care instead of just taking.” Her gaze drifted for a moment, thoughtful. “I think that’s why it feels like home. Not just land—but something that chose us too.”

She laughed under her breath when he finally relented, shaking her head as she leaned into his squeeze. “Good,” she teased gently. “Because you are. Whether you accept the title or not.”

At his words, her expression softened even more, something warm and steady settling in her chest. She turned slightly, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. “Yeah,” she murmured. “As long as we have each other.”

Her hand tightened around his, grounding, certain. “We’ll keep them safe. We’ll teach them how to listen—to us, to each other, to this place.” A small smile curved her lips. “And the island will keep giving back, just like it always has.”

She tilted her head up to look at him. “All of us,” she echoed quietly.