They didn’t speak at first.
They stood just beyond the boundary stone, the cold biting at their cheeks, the land still open around them. Hope could still feel it—Ember awake inside her, warm and certain.
And him.
Chance.
Not as a question.
As a fact.
“You felt it too,” Hope said softly.
Chance nodded. His voice was steady, grounded. “There’s no mistaking it.”
Rook stirred inside him, reverent and calm.
She is ours.
Hope stepped closer. Ember pressed forward—not demanding, not rushing. Simply present.
She tilted her face up to his, drawn by something that felt older than thought.
The kiss wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t desperate.
It was recognition.
Warm. Certain. Real.
For a moment, the world narrowed to breath and heat and the quiet certainty of yes.
Then Chance pulled back.
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