Page 30

JULIE

T he stars are ridiculous tonight.

Like the sky decided to outdo itself. Too many to count, not that I haven’t tried. Lillian’s already declared she saw a constellation shaped like a goat doing yoga. Torack said it looked more like a gremlin doing taxes. And somehow, both seem accurate.

We’re lying in the grass just outside the camp circle, far enough to escape the chaos of enchanted bedtime routines and fae glitter emergencies, close enough to hear the soft hum of laughter and music still echoing from the fire pit.

The first day of camp is officially over, and somehow no one caught on fire.

That’s a win in my book.

Lillian is curled between us, one arm flung across my stomach, the other clutching a mason jar full of glowing fireflies. She’s breathing soft and slow, eyelids fluttering with dreams I hope involve fewer snakes than this morning’s craft hour.

Torack’s beside me, one hand cradling the back of my neck, thumb tracing lazy patterns against my skin. We haven’t said much. We don’t have to. The silence between us isn’t heavy anymore—it’s full.

Comfortable.

Home.

“Did you ever think,” I whisper, “we’d end up here?”

Torack grunts, which in orc-speak is a complex emotional language. This one probably means not in a million years, but I wouldn’t change a thing .

I smile. “I mean it. This place. This—us.”

He shifts, just enough to lean in and press a kiss to my temple. “You saved this camp.”

I scoff. “Hardly.”

“You did.” His voice is low, steady. “I was just holding the pieces together. You turned them into something real.”

“You helped.”

He chuckles. “I did paperwork. You wrangled investors, reconciled goblin plumbers with fae architects, and taught my kid how to roast a marshmallow without setting the forest on fire.”

“I only did the last one once.”

“I said without .”

I laugh, and Lillian murmurs something sleepy about unicorns and pudding.

We fall quiet again, watching the fireflies drift above the tall grass like floating bits of magic. One lands on my wrist. Its light pulses soft and slow, like a heartbeat.

“Can I ask you something?” I murmur.

Torack hums.

“Do you think… we’re enough? For her?”

He’s quiet for a long beat. “She’s smiling again. She laughs in her sleep. She believes in bedtime stories. I think we’re doing okay.”

I turn my head to look at him. “You’re really good at this.”

“At what?”

“Being her dad. Being mine.”

He freezes for a second, then exhales like he’s been holding it forever.

“You’re mine,” he says, rough and soft all at once. “I knew it the minute you started alphabetizing the spell permits.”

I choke on a laugh. “Romantic.”

“Hey, everyone’s got a type.”

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?”

Torack watches the bug’s lazy orbit. “She’ll remember how it felt.”

I smile. “That’s enough.”

A sudden gust rustles the trees, carrying faint laughter from the camp. Someone’s telling a story by the fire—probably Groth. He’s been doing impressions of me all week, which are equal parts terrible and horrifyingly accurate.

Torack reaches out and brushes a thumb under my chin.

“You did this.”

“I had help.”

He nods. “But you believed in it first.”

I lean into him, resting my head against his chest. “I believe in us now.”

And he says it like it’s been tucked behind his teeth for days:

“I love you.”

I look up, eyes burning.

“Say it again.”

He leans down and murmurs it right into my mouth, kissing me like it’s a promise.

Lillian stirs, muttering something about jellybeans and dragon wings, and we both laugh, pulling her in closer.

This is everything I never knew I needed. A snoring kid, an orc with a secret heart, and a night sky lit up by magic bugs. We’re a family now. And somehow, that feels like the most magical thing of all.