[Rynthall Estate—Post-Birth Chaos | Early Evening]
For the first time in centuries, the Rynthall estate wasn't echoing with orders, steel, sword drills, or drama.
It rang with laughter.
Baby laughter? No, not yet. But something better.
Silence. Peace. The soft, delicate hush of a newborn sleeping beside her parents.
Lucien—though still pale, disheveled, and swearing under his breath—was dozing lightly, one hand resting protectively near his daughter. Silas sat beside the bed, utterly bewitched, his thumb gently brushing her tiny fist every few seconds like he still couldn't believe she was real.
In the hallway, Faylen had to physically restrain Marcel from sprinting into the room with "a celebratory flower crown" and a baby-sized silk cape.
Alphonso was standing in a corner with red eyes, quietly humming a lullaby no one knew he knew.
And then—
BANG!
The front doors exploded open like the estate was being raided.
