Chapter 129
**ARIA**
The steam from my shower clung to me like a second skin as I stepped barefoot into the bedroom, towel wrapped tight around me, damp hair dripping onto my shoulders. The air outside the bathroom felt cool against my flushed skin, and goosebumps prickled down my arms. I padded across the wooden floor slowly, listening to the muffled hum of voices and footsteps somewhere beyond the walls of our apartment.
The apartment itself was calm—almost deceptively so. The curtains were drawn just enough to let in a slice of late afternoon light, turning the dust motes in the air into tiny golden sparks. Everything looked ordinary, yet nothing felt ordinary anymore. My world had shifted the moment Rosalie fainted, the moment Alex betrayed us, the moment Alaric’s name began echoing through every corner of my mind.
But tonight, my thoughts were fixed on something else—on Leila. She was so close to holding her child in her arms, and Cassius had promised me he’d send word the moment their daughter arrived. Just thinking of it steadied me, even as my heart raced with unease.
The sound of the front door opening startled me. I turned quickly, clutching the edge of my towel, and saw Adam and Austin step inside.
They looked utterly drained.
Adam’s face carried the kind of disappointment that weighed more than anger, and it pressed against me through our bond so strongly that it stole my breath. Austin carried his exhaustion differently—stoic, as if refusing to show weakness—but his pale eyes betrayed him. He was holding too much inside.
Neither of them spoke. Neither did I. Words weren’t needed.
We gravitated toward the bed as though pulled by an unseen force. The mattress dipped under their weight as they sank down beside me, our bodies finding each other in silence. Adam slid his arm carefully around my waist, pulling me against him, his warmth seeping into my skin. Austin pressed close on my other side, his forehead resting against my temple for a brief moment before he sighed, long and weary.
The room filled with the sound of our breathing, steady but heavy, like the rhythm of waves on a stormy shore.
I stared at the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks in the plaster, before finally breaking the silence. My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
“They won’t win,” I whispered. “Alaric and his gang… they won’t destroy what we’re building here. Our babies will be born. The prophecy will be fulfilled.”
The words tasted like steel on my tongue. Brave. Defiant. But inside, fear coiled tight, hissing reminders of everything we could still lose.
Adam’s chest rose and fell behind me, his breath brushing against my neck. “You’re right,” he murmured finally, his voice raw, edged with exhaustion. “We don’t have a choice. The only way forward is through.”
It wasn’t fiery determination. It was weary acceptance. But it was solid, and I clung to it like an anchor in rough seas.
Austin’s hand found mine beneath the blanket, his fingers curling around mine. “We’ll need a plan,” he said softly, his voice lower than usual, as if he didn’t want to disturb the fragile moment. “Something final. Something that ends all this once and for all. But not today. Not tomorrow.”
I turned my head toward him. His pale eyes found mine, and he gave me the faintest smile. “Right now, we need to breathe. To enjoy this moment. To wait for the little one who’s about to make us all an aunt, an uncle, and something bigger than all this darkness.”
The thought of Leila’s baby—a new life untouched by Alaric’s poison—brought a fragile glow into the room. I imagined Cassius’s hands trembling as he held his daughter for the first time, Leila’s tears of joy. For just a heartbeat, I let myself believe in that happiness.
I nestled deeper between them, resting my head on Adam’s shoulder as Austin brushed his thumb along my knuckles. The weight of their presence, their warmth, wrapped around me like armor. My heart slowed, the coil of fear loosening just enough to let me breathe without trembling.
The silence returned, but it wasn’t heavy this time. It was soft, warm, like the lull of a fire on a winter night.
My eyelids fluttered shut, and I let myself drift in the stillness, anchored by their touch. Tomorrow, the world would demand more of us. Tomorrow, there would be plans, danger, and shadows pressing in.
But tonight, all that mattered was this: we were together. We were still fighting. We were still dreaming of a future where our children could laugh under the sun without fear.
And I swore to myself that I would hold onto that dream with everything I had.
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