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"It was!" Millie sits up, wings fluttering with excitement. "But he did a...a dive...um...?"
"A diving roll," I supply, gently pushing her back against the pillows.
"Yeah! And he went whoosh!" Her small hands make a swooping motion. "Under the lightning!"
"Quite the adventurer, your father." There's something tight in Ronnie's voice, something that makes me wonder if she's thinking about my inevitable departure—the one I've been postponing without admitting why.
"I think that's enough excitement for one night, especially after all the monster business." I pull the blanket up to Millie's chin and press a kiss to her forehead. The scent of her—soap and childhood and innocence—fills my lungs. When did this tiny creature become so essential to my existence?
Millie yawns again, her small body finally surrendering to exhaustion. "Will you both be here when I wake up?"
The question hangs in the air between Ronnie and me like a physical thing. I feel her eyes on my profile, waiting for my answer.
"I'll be here, sweetheart," I promise, the words coming easily. Too easily. "Now close those eyes."
She struggles briefly against sleep, but her eyelids grow heavy. I stroke her hair until her breathing evens out, marveling at how something so small could hold such power over me. My daughter. My blood. My heart walking around outside my body.
When I'm certain she's asleep, I rise from the edge of the bed and turn to find Ronnie watching us, something soft and vulnerable flickering across her expression before she masks it.
"She finally surrendered," I whisper, following Ronnie into the hallway and quietly pulling Millie's door halfway closed.
"She fights sleep like it's her sworn enemy." Ronnie's voice is low, her arms wrapped around herself in that protective gesture I've come to recognize—her way of holding herself together when she feels exposed.
We stand in the narrow hallway, the silence between us thick with unspoken words. The events of the night press against my skin like a physical weight—the terror of hearing that thassir's scream, the primal rage that overtook me when I thought of Ronnie hurt or worse, the desperate way I claimed her body afterward.
"I should probably go," I say finally, though the words feel like gravel in my throat. "I've imposed enough for one day."
Her eyes snap to mine, something flaring in their gray depths. "Stay."
Such a simple word. One syllable. But it hits me like a physical blow.
"You want me to stay?" I search her face, looking for hesitation or regret.
"I'd rather you did." She lifts her chin slightly, a hint of her characteristic defiance showing through. "If you want to."
"I want to." The words come too quickly, betraying the depth of my eagerness.
She nods once, then turns and walks down the hallway. After a moment's hesitation, I follow, my wings adjusting instinctivelyto avoid knocking against the walls. She leads me to a door at the end of the corridor and pushes it open, stepping inside.
Her bedroom. Territory I've never been permitted to enter before.
The space is distinctly Ronnie—practical, unadorned, yet somehow deeply intimate. A simple wooden bed with a patchwork quilt. A dresser with a cracked mirror. A chair by the window with what looks like Millie's clothing folded over the back. Herbs hanging from the ceiling beams fill the air with their earthy scent.
"It looks exactly like your room in the last village," I say, trying to lighten the tension with a smile. "Right down to the herbs drying overhead."
I turn, expecting to see her roll her eyes or make some sarcastic remark. Instead, she's standing with her back against the closed door, studying me with unnerving intensity.
"What?" I ask, suddenly feeling exposed under her gaze.
She swallows, her throat working visibly. "Why did you save me?"
The question catches me off guard. "What do you mean?"
"If Millie was safe," she says, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her eyes, "why did you come save me?"
I cross the room in two strides, my wings rustling with agitation behind me. Ronnie's question echoes in my mind like a slap. How could she not know? How could she possibly think I wouldn't move mountains to keep her safe?
"Do you really think I wouldn't care if you were hurt?" My voice comes out rougher than intended as I cup her face between my hands. Her skin is warm beneath my palms, her pulse fluttering like a captured bird against my fingertips.