A sweet lullaby drifts through the cozy parlor—a silky thread of breathy sound weaving through the crackle of the fire and the faint hiss of snow.
The honeyed scent of beeswax candles mingles with the earthy notes of burning wood, coating the golden room in a cocoon of warmth and comfort.
"Deep in the midnight blue..." Neva sings, her voice sweetening the melody as the warm, pliant weight of her daughter's tiny body settles against her chest—
cradled in the soft, yet steady embrace of the fabric wrap, the velvety forest-green shawl enfolding them snugly in its warmth.
"Cold winds are rushing through."
"Sleep now, my flower child,
Dream where the warm Sun shines."
Neva gazes down at Inaya, a soft smile feathering her lips as the child blinks up at her—pretty lashes fluttering,
growing heavy beneath her mother's voice, soothing the fevered heat of her little body.
To Inaya, her Mumma is a cocoon of soft white clouds—gentle, boundless—easing every ache as the lullaby lulls her into sleep.
"A white bird drifts above you," Neva continues singing, tender fingers brushing a few strands of curls from Inaya's damp forehead.
"Angels keep watch over you.
Sleep now, my flower child."
She sways slowly, holding her daughter a little farther from the fireplace, its warmth fending off the frosty chill of December.
Inaya's breathing steadies—soft, growing shallow and serene until her lashes still—drifting toward dreamland where the living Sun breathes spring into the garden.
"Dream where the warm Sun shines," Neva hums, her voice barely audible as her eyes drift toward the window, where sharp gusts of wind rattle the snow-frosted pane,
the harsh blue night of winter pressing close, threatening to drown out her soft lullaby.
Her brows knit into a gentle frown—Rhett still isn't home. The hands of the vintage clock hanging on the wall edge toward six, as the world outside lies veiled in a bleak, deep-ocean hue, the whooshing air driving the snow into a rising, rushing white roar.
And she hadn't told him that Inaya has suddenly caught a fever again. It was during the children's noon nap that she found her daughter shivering in sleep, her small body burning far beyond its normal temperature.
She had fed Inaya her medicine with as much food as the little girl could take, the fever easing slowly.
If Neva could, she would soak up every ache from Inaya—but all she can do is pray for the sickness to fall away from her sweet child.
"Sleep now, my flower child," she whisper-sings, turning her head just in time to see Sky entering the parlor—
only to stop short in the doorway.
"Am I disturbing?" Sky asks softly, her brows creasing at the sight of the little girl bundled close against her mother's chest.
Neva shakes her head, offering her a small, reassuring smile.
Sky returns the smile and moves toward the dining table, her steps careful, reverent of the hush in the room. "Has the fever gone down?" she asks, pouring herself a glass of warm water from the floral-printed steel jug.
"It's slowly improving,'' Neva replies, glancing down at her daughter—Inaya's flushed, cherub-like cheek pressed against her skin. With her nose blocked, her little girl breathes softly through her parted lips.
"That's good then." Sky carefully pulls out a chair so as not to disturb the sleeping child.
She takes a slow sip of her water before settling into the seat,
facing the fireplace, the flames painting amber shadows across the room.
"Hey, Neva," Sky says after a quiet moment.
"Yes?" Neva replies, meeting Sky's gaze.
"May I ask… how old is your daughter?"
Sky asks, setting the half-empty glass on the table.
"She and Isaiah are three years old," Neva says, brushing her fingers through Inaya's soft hair.
"Almost four now," she adds in a whisper.
Sky nods, a tender smile playing on her lips. "Children do grow up fast, huh?"
Neva returns the smile. "They do."
"I'm home." A low, familiar voice, muffled by the thick stone walls, reaches her ears, followed by the soft thud of a door closing.
He's finally here. She exhales, a wave of relief washing over her, the tightness in her chest uncoiling slightly.
Just as he appears at the living room entrance, Rhean comes racing from the opposite room,
colliding into his father's legs with a thump.
"Dada, you're late!" the boy protests, lips curling into a displeased pout as he looks up at his father.
"Am I?" Rhett replies with a gentle smile, a hand weaving through his son's curls.
Rhean nods, his pout deepening,
tiny arms tightening around Rhett's legs in a fierce, clinging embrace.
"Can I make it up to you later?" Rhett asks, his eyes soft—
taking in the tiny frame clinging to him.
"But I want my Iron Man repaired right now, Dada!
He still hasn't got an arm!" Rhean persists, chubby cheeks puffed in mild agitation.
Rhett sighs, a faint smile touching his lips—the warmth of his sulky boy seeping into the frosted corners of his heart.
"I've got something to take care of right now. Why don't you go play with Isaiah until then?" he suggests,
his gaze falling on the boy leaning against the bedroom doorframe.
But his chest tightens as he catches a flicker of envy—and quiet longing—
in Isaiah's soft, chocolate eyes.
"Do you promise to fix it later?" Rhean asks, reluctantly pulling away, eyes searching his father's for reassurance.
Rhett nods, gently patting Rhean on his cheek. "I promise."
A bright smile blooms across Rhean's face, replacing the frown once etched in his delicate, pretty brows—so much like his mother's.
Rhett watches as the boys scurry back into the room, then turns toward the living room, meeting Neva's gaze.
"Sky, go fetch Knight," Rhett instructs, shrugging off his soaked jacket as he moves closer to the fireplace.
"Sure." Sky rises without haste, hands tucked into the pockets of her light-blue hoodie as she passes him.
"Did something happen?" Neva asks, frowning gently at the hardness etched across his features.
"The usual," Rhett replies, his gaze shadowed. "A slip of trouble." He throws his soaked jacket onto a dining chair before sinking into another, nearer to her.
"And you?" he asks, crossing his leg over the other as he loosens the laces of his waterlogged leather boots. He slips his feet free and tosses it aside, the damp fabric leaving a faint trace of cold gush on the floor.
His feet ache—cold, damp, and uncomfortable—
a sensation he hates most of all.
"Nothing out of place at home?" he adds.
"No," Neva whispers.
Rhett tosses the socks along with the waterlogged boots he's just pulled off, the soft thud of them landing on the floor blending with the quiet crackle of the fire.
He straightens, letting out a long, relieved sigh as his gaze meets hers. But his dark brows draw together, concern softening the sharpness of his features.
She looks distant—lost somewhere far beyond the flickering firelight—yet her body moves on instinct, gently rocking the child who whimpers faintly in her sleep.
"Are you alright?" he asks, voice low and careful.
"Huh?" Neva blinks, as if dragged from a trance. "Ah—yes, I'm… alright," she murmurs, her voice soft, a little wavering.
She clearly isn't. But Rhett offers no further prompting.
He simply watches her, silent and steady, letting the quiet weight of despair in her eyes speak for itself.
"I should get you a towel," Neva whispers after a pause, stepping toward the doorway.
"Until then, you can warm up by the fire—"
"Wait." Rhett catches her wrist, halting her before she can walk away.
"Stay with me, please," he whispers, his voice threaded with tender longing.
Neva turns to glance at him, but before she can speak, the soft scrape of boots against the wooden floor cuts through the room.
Both of them look up as Knight walks in, followed by Sky just a step behind him.
"What did you need me for?" Knight asks, voice dripping with displeasure as he collapses onto the couch, eyes swollen and heavy—clearly roused from a nap.
"What about Jack and Ace?" Rhett counters, eyes narrowing.
"When are they checking in?"
"No contact yet," Sky replies flatly, standing before the fireplace, arms crossed.
"Radio silence since dawn."
"Break it," Rhett snaps, his voice edged with irritation. "Get the message out—regroup within seventy-two hours. This isn't a damn vacation."
Knight yawns with complete abandon, tossing his head back as if to shake off the grim cold of the room—or Rhett's sharp, unrelenting glare.
"Focus, Knight." Rhett's voice cuts cold, edged with barely veiled resentment.
"Please, continue, Boss," Knight drawls, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips, deliberately provoking him.
Rhett clenches his jaw, exhaling through his nose in a bid for control.
His gaze shifts to Neva beside him—watching the tension thickening in the room with hardly a flicker of reaction.
"Do you want to go?" Rhett asks, wishing to shield her from whatever bleakness this conversation is about to stir.
Yet a part of him longs for her to stay—hoping some divine thread might bind her to him through every breath,
every heartbeat... for forever.
Neva simply nods.
"Alright," Rhett replies, a gentle smile ghosting across his lips.
He watches her far away, his gaze lingering on the curve of her small back,
the braided curls cascading down her waist as she carries her daughter into the hallway, and disappears into their bedroom.
"Had enough of worshipping your wife?" Knight's voice cuts through, slashing down Rhett's fragile reverie.
Rhett turns, his gaze hardening.
The vexation roused by Knight's words—and the ache of lost warmth veiled beneath them—evident in his grim eyes.
"Four hundred people have taken refuge in an unmarked, abandoned village—
not the one in our route," Rhett says, cutting straight to the point.
Sky frowns. "Off-grid?"
"Yes. Houses repaired. Streets swept clean," Rhett replies, leaning forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped tight, his face set in cold restraint.
"And the operation to relocate them wasn't even scheduled till next week,"
Sky says, moving toward the couch across from a solemn–looking Knight.
"I checked the village myself," Rhett continues. "They had no idea about the rescue scheme."
Sky tilts her head, leaning back against the couch, arms and legs crossed.
"Have they been chased from home?"
"They were," Rhett replies,
glancing up at her. "But they'd already escaped—before their houses were on fire."
"So blessed?" Knight raises a brow.
"Let me guess—some divine intervention, angels and all that, isn't it?" he sneers.
Rhett ignores him, straightening as his gaze darkens.
"It was Raka who warned them."
A sharp silence freezes the room.
For a moment, all Rhett hears is the gusting wind rattling against the windows over the crackling fire—the weather slatternly churning into an impending, disastrous gale.
Much like the situation about to unfold—unless a stronger strategy is forged for the tempests to come.
"And how do you know that?" Knight asks, his gaze sharpening—
more serious than he's been at any point in this conversation.
"I figured that much when they mistook me for their saviour," Rhett replies,
his voice low, expression unnervingly calm and unreadable.
"Hah." Knight lets out a short, bitter laugh. "What a sick-ass freak."
"How many escorts did he have?" Sky asks.
"None," Rhett replies. "He was alone. Unarmed—but we don't buy it."
"He's laying groundwork for something bigger," Sky mumbles, biting the inside of her lip. Her brows draw together, her gaze guarded as she tries to piece it together.
"Of course he is," Knight interjects. "Probably caught wind of Czar's plan and decided to compete for our goddess of Love—Mrs. Prophetess' affection."
"Oh… this is fun." Knight smirks at Rhett, who fixes him with a glare jagged enough to fracture bone.
"It'll be up to her to choose the more heroic one, alright—Mr. Rhett Lei?" He tilts his head, a grin creeping onto his lips, hinting at the prince of evil himself.
"Knight," Sky snaps, shooting him a sharp, warning look. "Don't entice him."
"All right, all right." Knight folds his arms behind his black‑blue tousled hair, the grin stubbornly stitched to his lips.
"So, what's the move?" Sky asks quietly.
"The villagers are both bait and hostages—and likely his leverage with the king," Rhett states evenly. "He'll surface soon."
"And I'll be the one to catch him,"
Knight cuts in. "Alive, or dead," he adds, conviction beginning to glint in his eyes.
"No direct pursuit," Rhett counters coldly. "We won't risk the people. Track him quietly—until we find a way to evacuate them."
"Okay." Knight rises slowly, stretching his arms with languid ease.
"I'm off to bed. But before that, I've got a little present to prepare—to welcome our dear Czar's twin brother.'' He winks at Rhett, then crosses his arms behind his head, whistling through the parlor with unnerving serenity.
Rhett exhales, looking older than he is, fine creases tugging at the corners of his eyes.
"We'll discuss the details later." Rhett reaches for his boots, fingers grabbing the fringe as he rises, heading toward the door.
Sky only hums in response, her gaze trailing the tall silhouette of her leader—his shoulders slouched beneath a burden heavier than he will ever let himself show.