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I roll onto my side, careful not to jostle Lillian. “I love you.”

He doesn’t say it right away. He just leans in, kisses me like it’s the first time all over again, and murmurs, “Forever.”

Lillian is snoring. Not in the gentle, movie-scene kind of way, either. I mean full-on, nose-whistling, one-arm-flung-over-my-face snoring. She’s dead asleep, curled up between me and Torack in a nest of blankets and overgrown grass, clutching her jar of fireflies like it contains state secrets.

I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

The stars are still out in full force, scattered like someone shook a box of diamonds over navy velvet. A few of the brighter ones blink lazily, half-hidden by drifting clouds.

The air smells like pine needles, distant smoke, and the faintest hint of enchanted raspberry tea. I press my cheek against the blanket, watching the soft glow of the fireflies reflect in the jar glass. They blink like they’ve got something to say, like they’re singing lullabies with their light.

Torack’s shoulder is warm against mine.

His hand finds my waist and lingers there. Possessive. Gentle. Steady.

“I think she might be part warthog,” I whisper, brushing a bit of Lillian’s curly hair off my mouth. Torack grunts.

“Or maybe she’s just yours now.”

My heart does this weird clench-flutter thing it’s been doing ever since he dropped to one knee and changed my entire world.

“Yours too,” I say, softer.

“Ours.” He doesn’t speak for a minute. Just shifts so our arms touch from elbow to fingertip, like he can’t not be close.

“You make this feel real,” he finally says.

“What? The snoring?”

He huffs, that rare, almost-laugh sound. “All of it. The camp. Her. Us.”

I sit up just a bit, careful not to jostle Lillian. “It is real.”

Torack looks at me like I’ve handed him something fragile.

“You’re staying.”

I nod. “Forever.”

He shifts closer, reaching for my hand. “You sure?”

“You’re the one who proposed, remember?”

“I thought maybe you came to your senses.”

I smirk. “Please. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Even if your bedtime stories involve a lot more explosions than mine.”

“She likes action.”

“She also likes sparkles and sticker charts.”

Torack raises an eyebrow. “We can negotiate.”

We fall into silence again, the good kind. The kind where your body’s still buzzing from the day, but your mind’s finally still.

Lillian’s breathing settles, and one of the fireflies escapes her jar, hovering just above our heads. I reach out and let it land on my finger.

“Do you think,” I ask, “she’ll remember this?”