Jora let out a soft laugh when Sage wrapped his arm around her, settling easily into his side as they both watched Lyra dart through the garden. “She really is,” she murmured, eyes warm. “Home brings out that energy in her. Like the island’s calling her by name.”

At his teasing about it being her turn to clean Lyra next, Jora snorted quietly, nudging him with her hip. “Oh, I’m well aware,” she said dryly. “I’ll just keep pretending I don’t see the dirt until it’s absolutely unavoidable.”

Her gaze stayed on their daughter as Sage spoke again, and her smile softened at his words. “It really is perfect,” she agreed, voice low and full. “Messy, loud, exhausting… and perfect.” She rested her head lightly against his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric at his side.

When he called out to Lyra, Jora watched as the girl slowed just a bit—only a bit—lifting a hand in acknowledgment before immediately resuming her mission. Jora huffed a quiet laugh. “At least she listens,” she said. “Eventually.”

Her eyes drifted from the garden back to the house, to the hallway where the babies slept, to the kitchen still smelling faintly of pancakes. “This cycle,” she murmured, echoing him, “it keeps us grounded. Reminds us what matters.”

She turned her face slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t change it either.”

Jora smiled at his words, that quiet, fond smile that meant she was tucking them away somewhere safe inside her. “It does,” she agreed softly. “And I think it chose us just as much as we chose it.”

She laughed under her breath at his teasing, glancing meaningfully toward the doorway Lyra had vanished through. “Oh, I’m fully prepared to fail at that,” she said lightly. “If she doesn’t leave muddy footprints, it’ll be leaves. Or berries. Or something mysteriously sticky.” Her eyes sparkled with affection despite the mock complaint.

At his softer words, she nodded, heart steady. “She knows,” Jora murmured. “She belongs here. All of them do.”

The quiet didn’t last long—she barely had time to enjoy it before Caspian’s cry cut through the air, sharp and insistent, quickly joined by Kaiya’s more startled wail. Jora sighed softly, not annoyed, just amused, turning as Sage disappeared into the babies’ room.

When he returned juggling both of them, she stepped forward immediately, arms lifting without thought. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, taking Kaiya from him and tucking her close against her chest. “You were sleeping just fine until your brother decided the world was ending, huh?”

She shifted Kaiya gently, rocking her with practiced ease, her thumb brushing small circles over the baby’s back. “You hear that?” she added to Sage with a quiet smirk. “Already blaming him for everything.”

Kaiya’s cries softened quickly, melting into small hiccupy breaths as Jora hummed under her breath, forehead resting briefly against the baby’s fine hair. She looked back up at Sage, eyes warm and steady. “See? We’ve got this,” she said softly. “Chaos and all.”

Jora snorted softly at that, shifting Kaiya higher against her shoulder and giving Sage a look that was equal parts offended and amused. “Oh, please,” she said dryly. “If he got that from me, he’d be glaring at the bottle like it personally betrayed him.”

She glanced down at Kaiya, who was now fully settled, warm and heavy against her chest, tiny fingers curled into the fabric of Jora’s shirt. Jora brushed her thumb gently along Kaiya’s back, her voice lowering without her meaning to. “See? Your sister knows how to communicate. Quietly. Politely.”

Her eyes flicked back to Caspian, watching him attack the bottle with single-minded determination, and her lips twitched despite herself. “Alright,” she conceded softly, “maybe that part’s you. That look? That’s all Sage.”

She leaned a little closer to him, bumping her shoulder lightly against his as she rocked Kaiya. “High-maintenance, dramatic, convinced the world is ending until fed,” she murmured with fond affection. “You’ve already taught him so much.”

Jora tilted her head toward the window again, where Lyra was still happily occupied in the yard, then back to the babies. “Three kids in and we’re already outnumbered, outplayed, and running on instinct,” she added quietly—but there was no complaint in it at all.

Her gaze softened as she looked between Sage and Caspian, then down at Kaiya again. “And somehow,” she finished, voice warm and steady, “it still feels like exactly where we’re meant to be.”

Jora laughed softly, the sound warm and a little breathy as she leaned in to look at Caspian more closely. “Alright, fine,” she conceded, lips twitching. “That is a very serious glare. I’ll give you that.” She reached out to smooth a finger along Caspian’s cheek, her touch gentle and practiced. “Though honestly, I think he’s just offended the bottle didn’t appear faster.”

At Sage’s indignant yelp, she raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed. “You?” she echoed, tone dripping with playful disbelief. “Not dramatic?” A beat passed before she smiled, softening the tease. “You once sighed like the world was ending because dinner was five minutes late.”

She shifted Kaiya slightly, settling her more comfortably before looking back at him, eyes bright. “Outnumbered or not, you’ve done just fine,” she agreed. “Though I seem to recall you getting very good at holding your ground.” Her gaze flicked pointedly between him and their daughters, affection written plainly across her face.

At his comment about having another boy, Jora laughed again, shaking her head. “Oh, I’m terrified,” she said dryly. “You and Caspian against the rest of us? However will we cope.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Just remember—Kaiya and Lyra already have you wrapped around their fingers. I give him, what… a week?”

She reached out to lace her fingers briefly with Sage’s free hand, squeezing gently. “Boy or girl, outnumbered or not,” she added more softly, “you’re still exactly where you belong. And so is he.”