Three days had passed since the heartbeat beneath their home.
No one spoke of it directly, though it lingered between them like a fifth presence—silent, expectant. The wards had since stabilized, but Nova's powers had not. She'd developed a new habit: every time she laughed, something reflective cracked. First the kitchen window, then a goblet, and once, Marcus's patience.
Kai called it baby's early magic development. Marcus called it a safety hazard.
On the third morning, the sunlight broke through the Sanctum's stained-glass windows in fractured patterns, scattering crimson, gold, and violet across the marble floor. Nova sat in Samantha's lap, gurgling delightedly at the colors flickering around her.
"I swear she's doing it on purpose," Kai said, balancing a spoon on his nose while Nova clapped. "That's her way of showing dominance."
Marcus crossed his arms. "She's a baby, not a tyrant."
"She's your daughter," Kai replied sweetly.
