Rex reached out, his movements deliberate and unhurried, as if any sudden motion might shatter the fragile equilibrium of the room.
He pressed his palm against Mara's belly first. Through the soft fabric of her dress, he felt the faint, miraculous heat of new life, a pulse that felt impossibly delicate compared to the iron-hard certainty of his own heartbeat.
Then he moved to Marceline, holding the contact longer than necessary, letting the physical connection anchor them both.
He wanted them to feel the solidity of his presence, to understand that his words weren't empty air but were forged in the same steel that would soon be dripping with blood.
Mara's breath hitched, a small, broken sound that tore through the quiet. Marceline's eyes finally glazed over, the tears she had been fighting with such stubborn pride threatening to spill over.
"Come back," Marceline whispered.
The words were simple, stripped of all pretense, raw and bleeding with terror.
"I will," Rex said.
