Chapter Twenty Six
Home felt different that night. Not in a bad way more like it felt the same as a place that you’d spent weeks convinced you might never see it again — every ordinary thing suddenly precious, the creak of the stairs, the smell of the kitchen, the exact worn spot on the couch cushion that had molded itself to the shape of three people over years of Sunday mornings.
We'd all showered separately first, actual hot water from a real boiler instead of whatever the Sanctum had conjured for us, and it had felt so good I'd nearly cried standing under the spray, scrubbing at skin that still smelled faintly of smoke and shadow no matter how many times I rinsed.
Then we'd eaten — proper takeaway, the greasy kind neither twin would normally touch, because none of us had the energy to actually cook and none of us cared.
We sat cross-legged on the living room floor eating chips straight out of the paper, laughing at absolutely nothing, high on the sheer, stupid relief of being back somewhere real.
By the time we made it up to bed, all three of us piled into Orias's room like we'd never once considered sleeping anywhere else, I felt lighter than I had in longer than I could properly remember.
"I still can't believe Dad's actual first request, once we got back into signal range, was to order himself a phone so he could 'catch up on years of football,'" I said, flopping back against the pillows. "Not 'I missed my own bed.' Not 'I missed real food.' Football."
"Man's got priorities," Orias said, dropping onto the bed beside me, still faintly smelling of the mint shower gel he'd apparently used half a bottle of. "Respect it, honestly."
"He asked me what a smartphone was," Rowan added, settling on my other side, one arm sliding behind his head. "Then spent forty minutes trying to figure out how to turn the flashlight off."
"In fairness, that app placement is genuinely confusing." I laughed.
"Cian asked me if social media was 'still a thing people did,' like he'd been gone a century instead of—" I stopped myself before finishing the sentence, some old instinct catching the number before it left my mouth, and just laughed harder instead. "A while."
"He also asked if the Hollow still did the Halloween festival," Orias said. "Practically lit up like a kid when I said yes."
"We should take him. All of us." I turned onto my side, facing both of them. "Dad too. God, imagine explaining any of this to Mrs. Hartley if she asks where Dad's been for the last however-many years."
"Extended business trip," Rowan said immediately. "Very hush-hush. International demon relations."
"That's somehow both a lie and completely accurate." I laughed.
We lay there a while longer, trading stupid, small stories, the kind that didn't matter but felt good to say out loud after everything we'd just survived. Eventually the conversation slowed, and Orias's hand found my waist, thumb tracing idle patterns against my hip.
"So," I said, voice dropping into something warmer. "What now?"
Orias snorted. "What do you mean, what now?"
"I mean, we survived a magical prison, saved your dad, got your brother back—"
"Your stepbrother," Rowan grinned. “He’s your brother now too, Amber.”
"Semantics. My point stands. We did the big dramatic thing. What happens after the big dramatic thing?"
We all considered it, genuinely, turning the question over instead of brushing it off with a joke.
Then I sighed. "I go back to running the bakery, I guess. The festival's still happening, whether or not I've got a functioning nervous system left to run it with. Dad's going to want to actually be part of it this time, not just hover behind the counter like a ghost."
"Speaking of the bakery." Rowan's voice went carefully casual in a way that immediately made me suspicious. "I was thinking I might help out."
I propped myself up on one elbow, staring at him. "You. Baking."
"Is that so hard to believe?"
"You've burned toast, Rowan. I have witnessed this with my own eyes."
"That was one incident. Years ago. I've grown as a person."
"He set off the smoke alarm making toast," I told Orias, who was already grinning like Christmas had come early.
"In my defense, the toaster was defective."
"The toaster was fine. You put it on the highest setting and then walked away to answer the door." I squealed.
Orias laughed hard enough to shake the whole bed. "I've seen this man summon a storm out of thin air and I still wouldn't trust him within ten feet of a cinnamon roll unsupervised."
"You're both cruel and I don't appreciate it," Rowan said, though he was fighting a grin the whole time he said it. "Fine. I'll start with something simple. Something idiot-proof."
"There is no idiot-proof version of a cinnamon roll. That recipe has ruined grown adults." I snickered.
"Then I'll learn. Slowly. Under close supervision. You can stand over my shoulder criticizing my technique the entire time, I'm sure you'll enjoy that far too much."
"I really will," I admitted, unable to hide the smile creeping across my face.
"I want in too," Orias said. "Not baking. Just supervising the supervising. Someone needs to document this properly for posterity."
"You're both banned from the shop during opening hours if this goes how I think it's going to go."
"Devastating," Orias said, entirely unbothered, already pulling me closer against him. "Truly, a devastating blow to my morning routine."
I let myself sink into the warmth of both of them, the weight of the last few weeks finally starting to properly settle instead of pressing down. Rowan's hand found mine over the blanket, and I felt Orias's mouth find my shoulder, slow and unhurried, no rush behind it at all.
"You okay?" Rowan asked quietly, some of the teasing dropping out of his voice. "Actually okay. Not just surviving-okay."
I thought about it honestly before answering. "Getting there. I've got my dad back. You've got your brother back. I've got you two." I glanced between them both. "That's a pretty good place to be getting to, all things considered."
"Good," Orias murmured against my shoulder, mouth trailing higher, toward my jaw. "Because I'd very much like to properly celebrate that, if you're not too tired."
"I'm exhausted," I said, already tilting my head to give him better access, already feeling Rowan's hand tighten around mine in silent agreement with wherever this was going. "Doesn't mean I want you to stop."
"Good answer," Rowan murmured, close to my ear, and I felt him shift closer at the same moment Orias's mouth finally found mine.
It was slow this time. No adrenaline chasing it, no desperation left over from a fight neither of us had been sure we'd survive.
Just Orias's mouth against mine, unhurried, and Rowan's hand sliding up under the hem of my shirt, fingers tracing warm, deliberate lines against my ribs like he had nowhere else in the world he needed to be.
I hummed against Orias's mouth as Rowan's hand found my breast, thumb brushing slow over my nipple through the thin fabric, and felt the answering hitch in my own breath echo straight through the kiss.
Orias smiled against my lips, clearly feeling it too, and deepened the kiss just enough to swallow the small sound that escaped me when Rowan's mouth found the side of my neck instead, teeth grazing gentle over skin still faintly pink from the day.
"Off," I breathed, tugging at Orias's shirt, and he obliged without hesitation, pulling it over his head and tossing it somewhere off the bed before helping me out of my own.
Rowan's mouth never left my neck the whole time, working lower with unhurried patience, and by the time both twins had me properly bare between them I was already trembling, caught between two sets of hands that seemed to know exactly where to touch and exactly how slow to take it.
Orias's mouth closed over one breast while his hand slid lower, fingers finding me slick and aching within seconds, and I arched up into both of them at once with a moan I didn't even try to muffle this time.
"There she is," Rowan murmured, watching my face with an intensity that never seemed to fade no matter how many times he'd already seen exactly this expression. "No reason to be quiet tonight, love. It's just us."
"Good," I managed, before Orias's fingers found the perfect rhythm and stole whatever else I'd been about to say.
They took their time with me, trading off between mouths and hands until I was strung tight and shaking, until Rowan finally settled between my thighs and Orias pulled my mouth to his to swallow the sound I made when Rowan pushed inside, slow enough that every inch felt like its own kind of confession.
Orias's hand found mine, lacing our fingers together against the sheets, and I let myself get lost in the two of them completely — Rowan's steady, deliberate rhythm, Orias's mouth trailing over every inch of skin he could reach, both of them murmuring low, filthy, tender things against my skin in equal measure until the whole day, the whole ordeal, finally burned itself out into something that felt only like pleasure and relief and the two of them, right where they belonged.
When I finally came apart between them, it wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It was quiet and complete and utterly theirs, and I felt both of them follow not long after, murmuring soft things against my skin as we all came back down together, tangled and sweat-damp and entirely spent.
"Well," Orias said eventually, voice wrecked and satisfied in equal measure, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Ten out of ten. Would survive a magical prison again."
"Don't jinx it," I mumbled, already half asleep against his chest.
Rowan's hand found my hip, thumb tracing slow circles the way it always did right before sleep pulled him under. "Whatever comes next," he said quietly, "we handle it exactly like this. Together. All three of us."
"Deal," I whispered, and let myself sink into the warmth of both of them, exhausted and happy and finally, properly home.