(Nova POV)
The tower chamber had become a strange kind of sanctuary—barred windows letting in pale dawn, velvet hangings muffling the distant clamor of the fortress waking. Damien slept beside me for the first time without shadows coiling at the edges of the bed. His arm lay heavy across my waist, palm open and warm over the small curve of my abdomen. His breathing was deep, almost peaceful, the lines of strain around his eyes softened in sleep.
I didn't dare move.
The bond thrummed between us—quiet now, but alive. Every few minutes the child stirred, a tiny pulse of silver light rippling through me and into him. Each time it happened, his fingers flexed against my skin, instinctive, protective. He murmured something incoherent—my name, maybe—and pulled me closer.
I pressed my hand over his.
"Feel it," I whispered into the dark. "Feel what we made."
The light answered before he woke.
It flared—sudden, bright, uncontainable.
