The warm scent of freshly baked bread lingers in the air, mingling with the rich, earthy aroma of thick, buttery mushroom soup.
Neva stands at the dining table, her movements unhurried—each gesture slow and intentional, as she lays down the porcelain bowls and plates with care.
She lifts her head, gazing toward the open window, where a sweet breeze flutters the lacy curtains and drifts gently into the parlor.
She draws in a deep breath as the fresh breeze feathers her face,
wavering a few strands of curls from her half-braided, loosely flowing hair.
A soft smile curls her lips,
palms resting on the tablecloth-draped wooden slab, grounding her in the quiet warmth of the moment.
It's a golden morning—around eight o'clock. Sunlight spills through the trees,
bright and gentle, casting a soft, honeyed glow across the room.
Familiar, gentle footsteps approach—she doesn't need to turn to know who it is.
A moment later, an arm wraps around her waist, drawing her close, her back resting against his strong, steady chest.
She melts into his warmth, breathing him in as he brushes her hair from her neck and trails soft, moist kisses along her slightly exposed shoulder. A quiet sigh escapes her, full of contentment.
He smells of cedar and heat—like sunlit wood, and a wildness barely tamed beneath. There's a hint of mint on his breath, the faintest whisper of her rose lotion clinging to the collar of his shirt.
"I love you," he whispers, his voice deep and groggy, pressing a kiss to the bruise blooming on her neck—a tender mark of love from the night before.
"I love you too," she breathes, tilting her head to grant him more access as he trails soft kisses along the curve of her neck.
Her eyes flutter closed,
leaning into his touch—utterly unguarded, wrapped in his warmth, in the promise of this beautiful morning hush.
She meets his gaze, melting into the warmth—the quiet, slow burning passion swirling in those familiar chocolate eyes.
Rhett smiles softly, then leans in to capture Neva's lips in a gentle, lingering kiss.
Someone clears his throat, breaking the tranquil silence between the married lovers.
Neva's eyes fly wide, a flicker of panic crossing her face as she turns—only to find Ace standing in the doorway, arms crossed and an unreadable look on his face.
She immediately pulls away from Rhett, who lets her go—unhurriedly, begrudgingly.
"Apologies for the interruption, but Sky and the others are almost at the village."
Ace strolls into the living room with practiced ease.
"They are?" Neva frowns. "But I didn't prepare breakfast for them."
"They can feed themselves." Rhett places a hand on her waist,
his thumb grazing the fabric over her skin in a slow, comforting stroke.
Ace grabs a slice of warm bread from the flat wooden platter arranged with cut fruits, bread, butter, and a bowl of dates and boiled eggs.
"Go and fetch them here—we don't want the villagers getting ideas," Rhett instructs, watching as Ace calmly picks up a butter knife and spreads butter across his bread.
Ace glances at him and nods. "Roger that," he replies, taking a bite.
Neva sighs softly and smooths down her hair.
"Mama," Rhean says, toddling into the parlor. "I'm hungry."
She turns with a smile toward her son. "Of course, baby. Breakfast is ready."
"Save me some of that mushroom soup, please. I'll be back in a moment." Ace flashes Neva a sweet smile.
Neva returns the smile, her voice warm. "Of course."
"Thank you," Ace says with a smile, then nods at Rhett and heads toward the door, munching on his buttered bread—but not before ruffling Rhean's hair on the way, making the boy pout in mild displeasure.
"Come here, Rhean," Rhett says as Rhean steps toward them. He lifts the child, settling him gently onto the chair.
"I'll get the twins," Neva begins, but soft footsteps approach the parlor before she can move.
She turns to find Inaya and Isaiah walking in, hand in hand. A smile blooms on her lips.
"Are you both hungry?" Neva starts to scoop some soup on the blue porcelain bowls.
Isaiah nods in response, while Inaya rubs her eye—still too sleepy to speak, even after Neva had them wash their faces and brush their teeth in preparation for the day.
Rhett helps her serve the food as Neva lifts the children one by one, settling them gently onto their chairs.
"I want yogurt, Mumma," Isaiah pouts, eyeing the dishes on the table with mild disappointment.
"We don't have any right now, baby," Neva replies softly, pouring milk into the children's cups.
"Be good and eat what's prepared," she adds, fingers gently stroking under Isaiah's chin.
His pout deepens, but he nods anyway.
Neva smiles at him, then begins preparing a plate with a generous serving of everything from the table.
After she's done, she glances at Rhett.
"Can you give it to him, please?" she asks softly.
Rhett frowns, meeting her gaze before glancing down at the plate—laden with enough food for a grown man. He nods once and takes it gently from her hands. She passes him a glass of orange juice as well.
Neva averts her eyes, her expression unreadable—though for a moment, something like stiffness flickering across her chest.
This task usually falls to Ace.
But with him away, there's no one else she can depend on but Rhett.
She draws in a sharp breath as he walks out, then forces a small smile
as her children begin to chatter, their voices weaving bright, innocent conversation through the stillness of the room.
---
Almost an hour has lapsed, when Rhett stands by the open window, eyes shifting toward the entrance at the faint murmur of voices and the creak of a door.
"Crazy," Agent Knight scoffs, pausing in the middle of the parlor as his gaze sweeps across the room.
"This island actually exists."
"Nice place," says Jack,
his eyes roaming over the warm, lived-in comfort of the cottage.
Sky appears beside Ace, casual as ever, and Hunter steps in quietly behind them.
Rhett's expression remains cold as he speaks, cutting through the quiet with calm authority.
"Where are your bags?"
"They are by the hallway," Ace replies, settling on the sofa.
"I didn't bring any," Knight shrugs, making himself comfortable beside Ace.
"Why?" Rhett asks, brows furrowed, eyes locked on the agents.
"We'll get straight to the job and take the criminal away." Knight reclines into the sofa with casual ease,
his arms sprawled across the backrest.
"But after some rest." Knight sighs contentedly, tilting his head back. "Let me just close my eyes and nap for an hour."
"Didn't Elk explain the details to you clearly?" Rhett asks sternly.
"He did. Clear as crystal," Knight replies nonchalantly, unmoving—still as a statue in his laid-back sprawl.
"Bring the criminal as soon as you arrive, and leave an agent or two as bodyguards for your wife." Knight's eyes open lazily.
"That wasn't the agreement Elk and I made," Rhett counters back.
Knight rolls his eyes.
"Did you really think Elk would scrap Tier One missions just to assign his top agents as glorified bodyguards for your wife?"
He chuckles, the sound low and mocking.
Hot anger surges through Rhett's veins.
"You're staying," Rhett says coldly, each word controlled but seething.
"Until her dedication is fulfilled."
Knight's scowl deepens.
"What dedication?" he snaps. "What mission or divine task are you people always barking about?"
He scoffs, voice rising with disdain.
"Some God-ordained nonsense, isn't it? Destiny? Purpose? Do any of you even hear how absurd that sounds? Does this so-called Almighty of yours even exist?"
Rhett glares at him, clinging to the one truth that steadies him—
She's worth every battle. And so is the God who gave her back to him.
"I didn't know the all-rounder, the mighty Agent Czar, could be dragged into such nonsense," Knight chuckles, his voice laced with mockery.
Then he smirks—slow, deliberate—clearly enjoying the storm gathering in Rhett's eyes.
"Is she that good in bed that you're playing the fool so willingly?" Knight's eyebrow arches, taunting.
"Because I'm honestly in disbelief at what's become of the cold-blooded killer standing before me."
Rhett's knuckles turn bone-white from the pressure.
He doesn't speak—can't. Not without driving a punch straight into Knight's face and wiping that smug grin off for good.
One more word. Just one.
"Enough, Knight," Sky cuts in, tone sharp and cool as steel.
She strides forward, and settles onto the sofa across from Ace—
eyes flicking briefly between the two men, reading the heat in the air.
"Save the testosterone for the field," she adds, almost lazily, but her gaze lingers on Knight with quiet warning.
Knight scoffs and crosses his arms, leaning back with a muttered, "Whatever."
But the flicker in his eyes betrays him—he knows he pushed Rhett further than he meant to.
Rhett slowly uncoils his fists, his chest still tightened, the tension barely bleeding from his shoulders. The silence that follows is heavy, stretching thick between the agents.
And then—he feels it.
He turns.
Neva stands at the doorway.
Guilt gnaws at his heart. His eyes soften at the sight of her—her face gentle, composed, standing still at the doorway.
But not to him. Never to him.
She can never truly hide her heart from him.
He sees past the veil—into the ache she carries quietly in her gaze. The way her fingers cling to the edge of the doorframe. The way her eyes, though unreadable to most, brim with hurt he knows too well.