Chapter 140
**ARIA**
The days blurred together in a rhythm that was at once exhausting and beautiful. Feedings, diaper changes, naps that never seemed long enough, and the quiet awe of watching two tiny boys breathe against my chest. A few weeks had passed since their birth, and while my body was still healing, my heart felt fuller than I had ever thought possible.
We were learning. Stumbling, maybe, but finding our way. Adam, meticulous as always, tracked every detail—feeding times, naps, Matteo’s strong cries, Leon’s softer coos. He had a notebook filled with scribbles only he could understand, but he swore it helped him feel in control.
Austin, in contrast, threw himself into fatherhood like he did everything else: fiercely, protectively, and without hesitation. He insisted on carrying them everywhere, as if his arms were the safest fortress in the world.
Our sons were already so different. Matteo, with his tuft of soft black hair and determined little frown, looked like Adam when he was concentrating. Leon, his lighter-haired brother, with warm brown wisps and wide, curious eyes, reminded me of Austin—always alert, always taking in everything. When I held them together, I felt as if I were holding two halves of a whole.
The community rallied around us. Rosalie enchanted the nursery with protective wards that shimmered faintly at night. Leila, exhausted herself from caring for Skylar, still came often, bringing meals and advice that saved me on my hardest days. Cassius hovered like a watchdog, suspicious of anyone who lingered too long near the twins. Even Sasha, who pretended indifference, sneaked into the nursery to hum lullabies in a surprisingly tender voice.
No news had come from Alaric or his allies. On the surface, life seemed peaceful, almost normal. But the quiet unsettled me. Danger didn’t vanish simply because it wasn’t visible.
At night, when Matteo and Leon finally slept and the apartment was hushed, I would lie awake, listening to their small breaths. Fear crept in sharper than the memory of labor: the fear of not living long enough to see them grow. Not to hear their voices deepen, watch them shift for the first time, or see them carve their place in a world that might not accept them.
It was a fear I rarely spoke aloud.
That morning, I woke with Matteo sprawled across my chest and Leon tucked in the crook of Austin’s arm. Adam had slipped out early to train, though I knew he’d return soon with food and his beloved notebook. Austin stirred beside me, dark hair falling into his eyes, and groaned.
“You’re hogging both of them again,” he mumbled.
I smiled sleepily. “Not my fault they prefer me.”
He snorted, carefully shifting Leon onto the pillow between us. “You’re warm, that’s all. I’m fun.”
“You’re loud,” I teased, brushing Leon’s light hair.
Austin kissed my temple, voice low. “Loud or not, I’d do anything to keep this.”
Later, Adam returned, arms full of breakfast trays and notes. He kissed the top of my head, glanced at the twins, and immediately checked his scribbles.
“They both fed around four this morning?” he asked.
“Yes, Adam,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I was there.”
Austin smirked. “You’d think he was planning a war campaign, not a nap schedule.”
Adam only shrugged. “Preparation saves lives.”
It should have been funny, and sometimes it was, but I knew his obsession came from the same fear that haunted me: proof that we were doing everything we could to protect Matteo and Leon.
When friends visited, I smiled, though sometimes I clutched the boys too tightly. Rosalie noticed once and touched my arm.
“You’re allowed to breathe, Aria,” she whispered.
“I know,” I whispered back. But letting go, even for a moment, felt impossible.
Cassius brought Skylar one afternoon. Watching Leila rock her daughter while Cassius hovered nervously made me laugh—my fierce brother undone by a baby girl. But it also reminded me of how fragile all of this was. We were building families in the shadow of a war we hadn’t yet won.
That evening, when Matteo and Leon finally slept, I stepped out onto the balcony. Winter air stung my cheeks, stars glittering overhead like they were holding their breath.
Adam joined me, sliding his hand into mine. “You’re quiet,” he said softly.
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous habit,” Austin teased, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders.
I smiled faintly but didn’t answer right away. Finally, I whispered, “What if I don’t see them grow up?”
Both men stiffened. Adam turned to face me, blue eyes blazing. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s real,” I said, voice trembling. “I’m not afraid for myself. I’m afraid of leaving them. Of leaving Matteo and Leon.”
Austin cupped my face. “You’re not leaving them. Not while I breathe. Not while Adam does. We’ll fight, we’ll guard, we’ll do whatever it takes. You’ll see them grow. You’ll see everything.”
His conviction steadied me, though fear lingered. Adam pressed his forehead to mine, voice low. “We won’t let anything take you from us. Not Alaric, not fate, no one. That’s a promise.”
For the first time in weeks, I let myself believe them. Just a little.
The days would keep passing. Feedings, laughter, exhaustion, joy. The threat of danger still loomed, but so did love—stronger, fiercer, unyielding.
And though the fear whispered still, Matteo and Leon had already given me more strength than I ever thought possible.
I would see them grow up. I had to.
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