June
One Year Later
The baby’s laugh was soft and breathy, more like a hiccup of joy than a real giggle, but it was enough to melt something warm and aching deep in my chest. He gripped my finger with surprising strength, tiny knuckles dimpled, his whole hand barely the size of a plum.
“Easy, little one,” I whispered, brushing a thumb across the soft curve of his cheek. “I know. The world’s very exciting today.”
Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, catching the gold-brown wisps of hair on his head—Kai’s color, Kai’s warmth, Kai’s imprint everywhere. The resemblance tugged at me the same way it always did: gently at first, then sharply, like a wire pulling taut.
He blinked up at me, wide dark eyes curious, trusting. Completely unaware of the storm that had brought him into this world—or the one still brewing around him.
I shifted him on my lap as he reached again for the wooden rattle. “Here,” I murmured, placing it in his hand. “Don’t drop it this time.”
A quiet shuffle of footsteps behind me made me turn.
Dannie stood in the doorway.
His frame filled the space, but he looked smaller than he used to—shoulders slouched, skin paler, eyes ringed with a weariness he couldn’t hide. Even the loose cotton shirt hung wrong on him, like he’d lost more weight than he wanted to admit.
“You should be resting,” I said immediately, adjusting the baby on my hip as I rose. “Your body still isn’t ready.”
He waved a hand as if brushing off my concern. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice so I wouldn’t startle the baby. “Ten minutes out of bed and you can barely stand straight. Go lie down.”
A faint smirk ghosted across Dannie’s lips—stubborn, tired, but still somehow teasing. “I’ve survived worse.”
“Exactly,” I shot back. “And that’s why you should be resting. You push yourself too hard.”
His gaze drifted past me to the baby, softening in a way I didn’t expect. “He’s grown,” he murmured. “Almost didn’t recognize him.”
My heart squeezed. “Babies do that.”
“Not like him.”
There was something behind his tone—something weightier, threaded with meaning I couldn’t quite unravel. Before I could ask, he exhaled and stepped into the room, bracing himself on the doorframe as though he’d run a marathon.
“You need to sit,” I urged, already moving toward the sofa. “Come on.”
Instead, he shook his head. “June… I need to tell you something.”
My stomach tightened. “Dannie—”
“It’s about Kai.”
The name hit me like a sudden drop, air punched out of my lungs. I held the baby closer instinctively, as if protecting him might protect me too. “What about him?”
Dannie hesitated.
And Dannie never hesitated.
His fingers curled around the frame again, knuckles whitening. “He’s in trouble.”
My pulse spiked. “What kind of trouble?”
“The kind,” he said quietly, “that started long before you and I ever met him.”
A cold ripple crawled up my spine.
The baby whined softly, sensing the tension, and I rocked him gently, forcing my breath to steady. “You’re scaring me,” I whispered.
“Good.” Dannie’s eyes locked onto mine—dark, intense, fiercely protective. “Because you need to be scared. You need to be prepared.”
He paused, chest rising with a shallow breath.
“Kai made an enemy,” he said. “A powerful one.”
The room tilted slightly.
“And that enemy,” Dannie finished, voice dropping to a near whisper, “is coming for him.”
The baby’s tiny fingers tightened around mine. My heart thudded, slow and heavy, like the forewarning of an approaching storm.
And for the first time in a year, one thing was painfully, terrifyingly clear—
Whatever peace we’d found was already slipping away.