Jora watched them with her arms crossed and a brow arched high, though the effort to keep a straight face was already beginning to crack. That innocent look Sage wore was criminal, and Lyra's wide-eyed, grinning agreement only sealed the farce.

“Oh, no, of course not,” Jora drawled, dry as the sun-baked cliffs. “Clearly I imagined the trail of crumbs leading directly to you both. My mistake.” She let out a mock sigh and turned to the counter, swiping up a bit of leftover bread and popping it into her mouth with exaggerated indignation. “You’re both lucky I don’t throw you in the brig.”

But she couldn’t keep it going—not really. Not when they both looked at her like that. Like home.

At his pirate comment, she rolled her eyes and laughed. “Please. I’d have stabbed his wig right off before he got through one dinner toast,” she said, grinning over her shoulder. “Besides… I don’t think anyone but you could’ve talked me into a life like this. Chaos and sugar crimes included.”

The teasing about the jungle earned him a half-hearted slap on the arm as she rejoined him. “A quarter my ass,” she scoffed, laughing. “I still find leaves under the rugs.”

But then she was in his arms, and all of it—the crumbs, the jokes, the memories—blurred into something softer, something real. She rested against him fully, head tilted up to meet his gaze as he took her hand and kissed it, and something in her chest tightened the way it always did when he looked at her like that. Like she was everything.

And she knew—knew exactly what he meant even when he said nothing.

Their kiss was warm, familiar, grounding. When their foreheads touched, she let her eyes fall shut for just a second, breathing in the quiet between them.

“You’re lucky?” she murmured, a smirk creeping onto her lips again as she opened her eyes. “I’m the one who got stuck with the softest damn pirate in the ocean. What a scam.”

But her tone was fond, teasing only on the surface.

She brushed a hand along his jaw, gentle. “I love you, Sage. You and your stolen bread and jungle feet and bad dreams. All of it. All of you.” Her voice dipped quieter. “You don’t have to try so hard, you know. You’re already everything we need.”

Jora narrowed her eyes at the pair of them as Sage swept crumbs away with all the grace of a guilty child and Lyra immediately joined in his little “shhh” conspiracy. Her expression wavered—fighting off a smirk—but she raised a single brow and deadpanned, “You two are the worst criminals I’ve ever seen.”

She grabbed a cloth and wiped down the spot they’d so slyly “cleaned,” muttering, “And the messiest.”

When Sage suggested aiming for the chest instead of the wig, she let out a laugh. “Right, right. Gotta make it count. One strike and gone before the hors d'oeuvres,” she said dryly. “You’re sick, you know that?” she added, teasing warmth in her voice. “I love it.”

At his claim that she’d come along willingly, she just snorted. “I seem to remember a certain someone showing up in the middle of the night with a boat and a basket of mangoes,” she said, eyeing him. “And then daring me to leave everything behind. Like a lunatic. Who does that?”

Her smile softened though. “Apparently me.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately at his leaf excuse. “You say that like I didn’t spend three hours yesterday sweeping out the front steps,” she said, swatting his shoulder lightly. “You don’t see them sneaking into your sock drawer.”

Still, when he kissed her cheek on his way to cleaning, she reached over to grab a stray plate and bumped her hip lightly against his.

“Pretty good scam,” she echoed, smirking to herself as she turned back toward the sink. “Might just keep falling for it.”