He opened the bedroom door himself.
No call, no raised voice—just pulled it open and found her standing in the corridor, hand still pressed to her swollen belly, frozen like a woman who had been waiting because walking away felt like surrender and staying felt like stepping into something she might never escape.
"—Come in," he said.
She came in.
The queen of the giantess tribe—seven feet two, heavily pregnant—swept the room with amber eyes that had long ago learned to catalogue every threat and every weakness before she ever spoke. She catalogued this one in a single heartbeat.
The torn uniform on the floor. The blood-stained sheets twisted at the foot of the bed. Miran—sprawled loose and boneless across the mattress, unconscious, the fresh Core Formation glow still shimmering across her skin, both thighs glistening with the thick, messy evidence of ninety straight minutes of being ruined—and at the edge of that bed, him.
Seated.
