Page 106 of Scornful

"Hey, sweet girl. You being good?"

She nods over and over again, though the marker stains on her hands suggest otherwise.

I scoop her up, settling her on my hip.

Across the room, Dasha's got baby Cali in her arms, bouncing her gently.

She's been incredible these past months, stepping into a maternal role for Rio's girls without being asked.

"She just ate," Dasha tells me as I approach. "Should sleep through dinner if we're lucky."

"You're amazing with them," I say, meaning it. "Both girls adore you."

A blush creeps up her cheeks. "They're easy to love." Her eyes drift to Rio, who's setting up chairs with Vanir. "Their dad's pretty special too."

I catch the longing in her voice, the way her gaze lingers.

Rio's been oblivious, still mourning Flora, but I don’t miss the fact she has a lot of love toward Rio.

Maybe by next Thanksgiving...

The front door opens, bringing a gust of November air and three people I've been expecting.

Kraken wheels Bjorn in, Magnolia beside them looking exhausted but happy to be here.

Ingrid practically flies across the room.

"You made it!" She drops to her knees beside Bjorn's wheelchair, and I see him light up even with the pain etched on his face.

"Wouldn't miss it," he says, voice stronger than last week. "Doc says I can start standing exercises next week."

Three weeks since the amputation, and he's fighting hard.

The prosthetic fitting is still a month away, but he’s determined to learn how to function normally with his disability.

Ingrid hasn't left his side except when forced, their relationship no longer a secret after everything that's happened.

"How's the pain?" she asks quietly, hand finding his.

"I can manage it, I guess. The phantom stuff's weird, but better." He shifts in the chair, and I catch the wince he tries to hide. "Smells amazing in here."

"Wait till you see dessert," I tell him. "Aziza's outdone herself."

Njal appears from the kitchen, grinning at his twin. "About time you showed up. I saved you a drumstick."

The easy banter between brothers makes my heart swell.

This—family choosing to be happy instead of sulking in trauma and pain—is what the Patriot can't understand.

He thinks targeting our children breaks us.

Instead, it's forged us into something unbreakable.

"Astrid!" Everly's voice carries from the entrance. "Can you help with these bags?"

I head over, freezing slightly when I see who's with her.

Dylan holds three grocery bags, his arm possessively around Everly's waist.

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