Elira stood by the nursery window, watching the rain paint streaks across the glass.
Amira slept peacefully in the crib behind her—safe, warm, unaware of the war being fought in her name.
Damien entered quietly, his tie loosened, storm in his eyes.
“She’s regrouping,” he said.
“I know.”
“She’ll find another way.”
“She always does.”
He came behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I hate that you’re in the middle of this.”
“I don’t,” Elira whispered. “Because I finally know where I stand.”
He turned her slowly, cupped her face. “Where’s that?”
“With you.”
His lips touched hers—slow, reverent, like a vow sealed in thunder. She melted into him, fingers curling into his shirt, needing his warmth, his strength.
His love.
They stood there a w
