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Trinity shrugs, eyes darting to the exit I'm now partially blocking. "They make it easy. They're good babies."
"They're lucky to have you." I risk another step forward. She doesn't retreat but watches me with wary eyes.
"They have me until I leave," she reminds me, chin lifting slightly. "That was our deal."
I run a hand through my hair, frustration coiling in my gut. "Is that still what you want? To leave?"
A flicker of something—uncertainty, perhaps—crosses her face before she masters it. "It doesn't matter what I want. It's what we agreed to."
"Things change." My voice drops lower as I take another step. Now we're close enough that I can smell her—that intoxicating mix of nimond flowers and something uniquely Trinity. "People change."
She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Demons don't change."
"I have." The admission costs me something—pride, perhaps, or the last shreds of my self-deception. "Since you. Since them."
Her green eyes widen slightly, flecks of gold catching in the moonlight. For a heartbeat, I think I see longing there—the same hunger that's been consuming me these past months.
"Vael..." Her voice catches. "Don't."
"Don't what?" I reach out, my fingers barely brushing her cheek. "Don't tell you that I see you? That I know there's more between us than a bargain?"
She flinches away from my touch as if burned. "There isn't. There can't be."
"Why?" I demand, the question harsher than I intended. Behind us, Kaelin stirs, and we both freeze until her breathing evens out again.
Trinity takes advantage of my distraction to step back, putting more distance between us. "Because I can't trust this. Any of it." She gestures between us. "I've survived by knowing exactly where I stand, and with you—" She breaks off, swallowing hard. "With you, I don't know anymore."
"You stand with me," I tell her, fighting the urge to close the distance she's created. "Beside me. Not beneath me, not as a possession. As..."
The word I want to say catches in my throat. It's too much, too soon. We're not ready.
"As what?" she challenges, arms crossing over her chest.
I exhale slowly. "As someone I care about. Someone who matters."
Her expression falters, vulnerability flashing across her features before she smooths it away. "Caring is dangerous."
"Yes," I agree quietly. "It is."
For a moment, we simply look at each other, the air between us charged with all the things we won't say. Then Trinity steps past me toward the door.
"Goodnight, Vael."
I watch her go, fighting every instinct that screams at me to follow, to make her understand. But I've pushed enough for one night, and Trinity—my fierce, fragile Trinity—needs time.
"Goodnight," I whisper, long after she's gone.
I don't sleep much that night. My mind keeps replaying Trinity's expression—that brief flash of vulnerability before her walls slammed back into place. By dawn, I've given up entirely, padding through the quiet house toward the nursery.
The soft morning light filters through the gossamer curtains, casting the room in a gentle glow. My daughters sleep peacefully in their shared crib, tiny chests rising and falling in perfect synchronicity. I lean over the edge, marveling at how such small creatures have completely unraveled my carefully ordered life.
"You two have turned me into someone I don't recognize," I murmur, gently tracing my finger along Liora's cheek. Her skin feels impossibly soft beneath my calloused touch. "I used to be feared across two worlds, you know."
As if sensing my presence, Kaelin's eyes flutter open—those striking red-amber orbs with green flecks that mirror my own but carry Trinity's intensity. She doesn't cry, just stares up at me with what looks suspiciously like judgment.
"Don't give me that look," I tell her seriously. "I'm perfectly capable of handling this."
She waves her tiny fists, unconvinced.