Jora laughed softly, the sound low and amused as she nudged her nose against his. “You say that like it’s a curse,” she teased gently. “But we both know you’d walk into the fire if one of them so much as sniffled too hard.” Her eyes sparkled, but her voice was warm—fond in a way only someone deeply in love could manage. “You’re doomed, Sage. Doomed to be wrapped around our daughters’ fingers, and I’m not going to stop it.”

She leaned into the kiss he gave her, her hand resting lightly against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. It made something flutter in her chest every time. That he was here. That she could touch him, hold him, love him.

When he spoke about Lyra’s fire, she grew quiet for a moment, then shook her head slowly. “Maybe it’ll burn her sometimes. Maybe it’ll get her into trouble.” She glanced at him, brows softening. “But it also means she won’t back down. She won’t be stepped on or silenced. And she’ll have us—you—to teach her how to carry that fire. To use it well.”

Her gaze lingered on him when he spoke of her mother, and she exhaled slowly, nodding. “She’s trying,” she agreed. “And she’ll come around. Especially if she keeps seeing you like this. Like the man who spoils his wife and daughter and talks about baby names and family dinners.”

She grinned then, brushing her fingers gently along his jaw. “Just don’t let her catch you swearing around Lyra too much. That’ll be a strike against you.”

As he said she and Lyra were everything, she blinked once, slowly, then smiled. A quiet, genuine thing. She cupped his cheek and leaned in, her forehead resting against his. “Good,” she whispered. “Because you’re stuck with us. Even if my mother starts throwing shoes.”

Jora’s eyes softened as Sage spoke, her hand resting over his where it lay between them. “She’ll be strong,” she said quietly, brushing her thumb along his knuckles. “But she won’t be alone while she learns. She’ll have us—every step of the way. That’s what matters.” Her gaze lingered on his for a moment, warm and steady, like an anchor in stormy seas. “We’ll make sure the fire doesn’t burn her the way it burned us.”

As the topic turned back to her mother, she gave a small smile and leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re doing just fine, Sage. She sees it, even if she’s not sure how to say it yet.” She didn’t miss the little things—the way her mother sometimes looked at him when he thought she wasn’t watching. Not suspiciously, but curiously. Quietly wondering who this man really was who had swept her daughter away to live in a place like this.

She definitely noticed the nose wrinkle at her swearing comment and barked a laugh. “Oh, she absolutely throws shoes. And they hurt, too—don’t get on her bad side,” she warned, teasing but not entirely joking. “But you’re right. Better than rocks. That’s when you know the crowd’s really turning on you.”

As Sage moved to get up, Jora stretched like a satisfied cat, watching him with a faint smirk before catching the suit he tossed her way. “Hiding the goods from my mother? How noble of you,” she teased, slipping out of bed and pulling it on with a shrug. Modesty wasn’t usually a concern, but she figured he was right—her mother would appreciate some effort. Maybe.

By the time they stepped out into the sun and saw her mom and Lyra, Jora’s face had softened entirely. The look on Lyra’s face—the way she lit up at the sight of Sage—was everything. It made something tighten in her chest. Something warm. Something so full of love it almost hurt.

She watched as Sage scooped Lyra up, the both of them laughing like they’d never known pain. This was why they fought so hard to hold onto this peace.

Jora turned to her mother then, her voice even but friendly. “We were thinking we’d take Lyra to the water. Teach her to swim.” She didn’t miss the slight narrowing of her mother’s eyes as they drifted over Sage, but to her mother’s credit, she nodded after only a moment, lips pressing into a line.

Jora added gently, “You’re welcome to join. If you want to get off the porch for a bit.”

Her mom’s expression wavered—still unsure, maybe, but softening. “Alright,” she said at last. “Sounds like fun.”

Jora gave Sage a small look, one full of reassurance. It’s okay. They’d get there. And if her mom did catch sight of Sage’s ears or the way the sea called to him like it lived in his bones, well...they’d handle that too.

One step at a time.

Jora trailed behind Sage as he took Lyra down to the shore, her feet sinking slightly into the warm sand. The sight of the two of them—father and daughter, dark curls and lighter ones glinting in the sun, both laughing and shrieking at the cold kiss of the tide—made her pause, heart tightening in her chest. It was moments like these that stilled the chaos in her soul. She didn’t believe in perfection, not truly, but this came close enough.

She heard her mother approach behind her, slow and measured steps as if unsure whether she was intruding. “You coming?” Jora asked softly, glancing over her shoulder. Her mother hesitated for a moment, then nodded, crossing her arms and remaining just shy of the shoreline. Jora didn’t push her. It was enough that she’d said yes at all.

Turning her attention back to the water, Jora stepped in, gasping slightly as the chill swept up her legs. By the time she waded out to where Sage was, he’d already quieted the waves—she could feel it, the subtle shift in the pull of the current. She glanced sideways at him as he let his shirt fall away, heart catching in her throat. The scars still made her ache, but she knew they were a part of him now. So would her mother—if not now, then eventually—understand that too.

When he picked up Lyra again and stepped deeper into the water, Jora followed, close behind, laughing softly at their daughter’s squealing joy. Her tiny kicks were frantic but determined, and Jora let her hand brush the baby’s back, steadying her beside Sage’s firm grip. “She is,” Jora breathed, eyes misting ever so slightly. “She’s perfect.”

Her gaze drifted to Sage’s face—eyes warm and proud, lit up from within. It made her throat tighten. “So are you,” she added quietly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, letting her lips linger for just a second. “You’re everything I never knew I wanted. And everything I’m damn lucky to have.”

Behind them, she heard her mother make a faint, audible sound—something between surprise and maybe... softening. Jora didn’t look back, didn’t press. She just stayed close to her husband, to their daughter, floating in the gentle, calmed waves of a sea that finally felt like home.

Sera smiled gently, eyes following the line of Sage’s shoulders as he moved with Lyra through the shallows, keeping her safe. He never took his eyes off her. Always vigilant, always gentle, always willing to play. She couldn’t help the swell of warmth in her chest as she watched the two of them—it was impossible not to feel it. There was no pretending he wasn’t made for this, even if he didn’t believe it himself.

She caught the surprise flicker across his face at her words, the way he threw her that quick glance like he still didn’t believe he deserved the softness. She would say it again and again until he did.

His kiss to her head made her smile quietly, and her gaze flicked to her mother briefly, just in time to catch the emotion shift behind her eyes. The faintest softening. Sera didn’t speak on it. She let it rest.

For that hour in the sea, she forgot everything else. There was only the sound of Lyra’s laughter and Sage’s steady presence beside her. No darkness. No ghosts. Just water and sun and joy.

When Lyra had begun rubbing her eyes and clinging tiredly to her shirt, Sera scooped her up, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. “Alright, my little fish,” she murmured, “time to dry off.” She left Sage with a squeeze to the hand, heading inside to change their daughter and get her settled.

By the time she came back out, Lyra asleep and the house quiet, she paused in the doorway. There they were: her mother in her usual thoughtful silence, and Sage… seated beside her, tension in the line of his shoulders but not running.

She didn’t step out just yet. She let them have this.

Her mother sat with a guarded calm, arms resting on the arms of the chair, but her eyes were sharp. Watching him. Measuring. But when Sage spoke, Sera saw something flicker. That recognition. That weight.

Her mother nodded after a moment, slowly. “Yes,” she said. Her voice wasn’t cold, but it held the sort of stillness that came from years of carrying too much. “It was a surprise. Not a bad one,” she clarified, tone quiet, “just unexpected. I remember you.”

There it was.

She looked at him, truly looked. “From the orphanage. That wild boy always trying to help the others escape, even if it meant getting beat twice as hard.” Her lips quirked slightly. “You always had blood on your lip and fire in your eyes.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees now, and Sera could see the shift. Not warmth, not yet. But... openness.

“I do have questions,” her mother continued. “Not because I doubt what you are to my daughter. Or to Lyra. I see that clear enough.”

Her eyes softened a little more.

“I just want to know you. Because you matter to them. And that makes you matter to me.”

From the doorway, Sera exhaled slowly. Then she stepped out, quietly joining them, but didn’t say a word.

She just sat down beside Sage and rested her hand on his knee, steady and warm. He didn’t have to do this alone.

Jora felt Sage still the moment her mother met his gaze, like a dog expecting the boot. She hated it—hated that he’d learned to flinch before kindness. But she knew why. She’d seen the damage. Felt the lingering weight of it in every soft moment, every time he held her a little too tight in his sleep. He was still healing. And her mother’s opinion, though she’d never say it outright, mattered to him more than he wanted to admit.

So she didn’t speak. Just watched with calm, steady eyes as her mother began to talk.

And when her mother said she remembered him? Jora saw Sage freeze—genuine shock widening his eyes, making his jaw slack just a bit. That little boy he used to be must have believed no one saw him. But her mother had. Maybe not often, maybe not in full—but enough.

Her heart clenched. She leaned into him, brushing her shoulder to his, grounding him. Letting him know she was there, that he wasn’t facing this alone.

His joke, small and half-hearted, pulled a faint smirk from her. She could tell the nerves still hummed beneath his skin, but he held steady, and she was proud of him for that. Even now, he tried to meet the moment with warmth. Humor. Vulnerability.

When he reached for her hand, she didn’t hesitate—her fingers wove between his naturally, like they were made to fit. She gave a soft, firm squeeze. Her thumb moved over the side of his hand, gentle, steady. I’m here. You’ve got this.

Her mother sat forward slightly, hands clasped loosely. Her face was unreadable, save for that same thoughtful crease in her brow Jora had grown up watching. She was thinking hard about this—taking it seriously, like she always did when something truly mattered.

“You were a boy then,” her mother said softly, evenly. “Now you’re a husband. A father.”

There was no coldness in it. No accusation. Just truth. A quiet acknowledgment of time passed and the changes that came with it.

“I want to know who you’ve become,” she said. “I know who you were. And I see how you are with my daughter and granddaughter.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to Jora, then returned to Sage.

“But I want to know who you are when no one’s watching. What drives you. What scares you. What you want from this life now that it’s yours.”

Jora didn’t speak right away. The weight of her mother’s words lingered in the warm air between them. They weren’t cruel questions. They weren’t even tests. They were just… honest.

And she could have answered for him—she knew Sage. But that wasn’t what this was. He had to show her mother himself.

So instead, she gave his hand another squeeze and looked at him with quiet strength in her gaze.

You don’t have to be perfect, her eyes said. Just be honest. That’s all.