Fifteen Years Later
Morning light danced across the lake's surface like scattered diamonds, each ripple catching fire in the dawn. I stood on our cottage porch, coffee warming my hands, watching the world wake with the patient satisfaction of someone who'd learned that peace was its own victory. At thirty-four, I'd discovered that retirement suited me far better than constant apocalypse management ever had.
"You're up early," Kieran's voice rumbled against my ear as his arms slid around my waist from behind. At forty-four, he'd grown into his authority like a perfectly tailored coat—still devastatingly attractive, now with silver threading through his dark hair that made my knees weak in entirely inappropriate ways.
"Old habits," I murmured, leaning back into his solid warmth. "Besides,
