Rhett is knelt before the crackling fireplace, his exposed skin prickling with heat as he lays another log onto the hungry flames.
The fire snaps and hisses, its dance filling the cottage with a gentle, golden hum.
From beyond the room comes the patter of tiny feet against the wooden planks, quick and light, chased by a chorus of laughter.
He turns just as three boys burst into the parlor, racing straight for the stone hearth.
"I made it first!" Rhean shouts, slapping his palms against the hearth's stone mantel, his voice ringing with triumph.
Isaiah, just a step behind, slows to a stop just short of the hearth.
Adam arrives a breath later, pressing his hands to the mantel beside Rhean's.
Isaiah huffs, arms folding firm across his chest in a small storm of pout, while Adam only offers Rhean a sheepish smile.
"Didn't I just tell you naughty boys to keep quiet?" Neva's gentle chide drifts into the parlor as she enters, Inaya clinging to the skirt of her dress while she carries a bundle of white towels in her arms.
Rhean only giggles, throwing himself onto his father's back, the scolding sliding off him as lightly as the grey smoke up the chimney.
"Ow!" Rhett groans in mock pain, a smile tugging at his lips as his son's small arms tighten around his neck, the boy's laughter bubbling over.
Neva only shakes her head, a small smile softening her lips as she watches them.
"Mumma," Isaiah whines, clinging to Neva's legs and pressing his face into her skirt.
"All of you, sit down," Neva says, gently easing him back. "I need to dry your hair before you catch a cold."
"All done with their baths?" Rhett asks.
"Yeah," Neva sighs exhaustedly, sinking onto the carpet. "It's always a battle getting them into the bath—especially in winter." She guides Inaya to sit before her and begins toweling the little girl's damp curls.
"Come sit here, Adam," she says with a smile, patting the space beside her.
The child returns her smile with a small nod.
"Can you help me dry Rhean's hair?" Neva asks, lifting her gaze to Rhett.
"Sure," he says, lowering himself onto the carpet. He takes the towel she offers and pats his lap. "Come here, my boy."
Rhean plops down against his father without hesitation. "Can Adam sleep over tonight after dinner?" he asks, tilting his head back with hopeful eyes.
"I doubt his grandma would allow it," Neva answers gently, turning to wrap Adam's damp hair in a towel.
"But why?" Rhean whines.
Before Neva can answer, Inaya lets out a sudden cry, clutching her head with both her palms. "Mumma, Isaiah pulled my hair!" she wails, tears welling as she shoots her brother a furious glare.
Isaiah only grins, mischief dancing in his eyes. Unfazed, he gives another sly tug at a damp strand.
"Mumma!" Inaya shrieks again, swiping at him with sharp little fingers.
"Enough," Neva snaps, catching Isaiah and pulling him back before Inaya can scratch his face. "Don't anger me," she warns, her tone firm even as her hands soften into a towel's gentle rub through Isaiah's wet hair.
Isaiah's grin collapses into a sulky pout.
"You just love teasing your sister, don't you?" Neva says with a frown.
"If you don't quiet down, that scary uncle will come scold us again."
"I'm not afraid of him," Isaiah retorts, shaking his head with stubborn defiance.
"It's not about being afraid," Neva says gently.
"You need to be considerate of others."
"But that man is bad," Rhean mutters, his small brows knitting together in disdain while his father towels his hair.
"But aren't my children good?" she says with a soft smile. "Then let's all be quiet and give that uncle the rest he needs."
The children's complaints fade into a gentle hush, their mother's words enough to steady them into quiet trust.
Rhett sets the towel aside, watching the tender chaos of his family with softened eyes, his heart swelling in the quiet glow of it all. The fire crackles against the hush that has fallen, painting his wife's pale skin in molten gold as snow whispers against the rooftop above.
He admires her quiet strength, her unfailing gentleness—his beautiful wife, the mother he always knew she would be. Even with the faint shadows of another sleepless night beneath her eyes, she is still radiant, every last thread of her spirit devoted to the care of their home and children.
Since the day of her sermon, the nightmares have not ceased—waking her in the dead of night with a stifled scream caught in her throat, trembling, weeping, her skin slick with sweat.
After the sermon had unraveled in chaos with the news of the soldiers' arrival, Neva confessed in a trembling voice that she had seen Raka in the crowd.
He immediately sent Jack and the guards to search for him, but they found no trace. Either he was too sly—or nothing more than a haunting fragment of her imagination.
From that day on, her anxiety only deepened—haunted by Raka, and by the rising toll of deaths among Miraeth's people as they at last refused to bow to their king.
She felt the weight of their choices heavy on her shoulders, though she knew it should not be hers to bear. For even in their suffering, they had turned from the false god and set their hearts upon the true God—their faith kindled by her sermon.
She has nearly refused sleep, afraid of what the past might unearth—visions of horrors that will never come to be.
Not now. Not when they have surrendered everything to the Lord.
Not when he is with her. Not anymore.
"Rhett," Neva whispers, tugging him from his thoughts.
He meets her gaze, a brow raising. "Hmm?"
"Do you want hot chocolate? I'm going to make some for the children and me," she says, gently working a wooden comb through Inaya's damp hair.
"Sure. I'll make it, if you'd like," he offers.
Her eyes lift to meet his, a soft smile warming her face. "Thank you."
Rhett exhales, shoulders loosening in content, that smile still tugging at his heart—still unraveling his heartstrings as effortlessly as ever.
"Anything for you, my Angel." He winks, sending her a kiss with an exaggerated pout and a flourish.
She chuckles, rolling her eyes in playful dismissal.
"Dada, we want to play games on your laptop," Rhean says, tugging at Rhett's shirt with insistent little hands.
"Nope," Neva cuts in before Rhett can answer. "You get too loud when you play video games, and too much of them isn't good for you."
"But, Mama…" Rhean pouts, his lower lip jutting out. Neva only shakes her head, firm but gentle.
The boy turns to his father with those wide, hopeful eyes, but Rhett only shrugs, offering a sheepish smile of helplessness.
Rhean's pout deepens.
"I love it when you babies paint, I really do," Neva says, nodding toward him. "So go fetch your colors and drawing sheets—and make me something wonderful."
"I'm going to draw the best!" Isaiah declares, springing to his feet and darting out the door.
"No, I am!" Rhean shouts, bolting after him, with Adam quick on his heels.
Neva sighs, shaking her head—it's always a competition with them.
"What about you, Naya?" Rhett asks, shifting closer to Neva until his knee brushes her skirt.
Inaya only shakes her head, nestling against her mother's chest. "I'm sleepy,'' she murmurs.
"You're such a little kitten, my sleepyhead," Neva coos, booping Inaya's tiny nose and coaxing a soft giggle from her.
Rhett smiles softly at them, his eyes clouded with an unreadable mix of love, guilt, and quiet longing.
A soft knock against the already open door draws the married lovers' attention to the parlor's entrance.
Sky stands there, dressed casually in a mesh blue hoodie and beige sweatpants, her blonde hair tumbling in messy waves.
"Come in," Rhett says, his spine instinctively straightening.
The agent's arrival reminds him—too quickly—of the situation waiting beyond this fragile cocoon of warmth, of the tangle of the real world pressing in on their little haven.
"The guys found the prisoners brought from the other land—in military-style quarters near an abandoned castle," Sky reports, dragging a chair over from the dining table tucked in the corner of the parlor.
"They're planning to disguise themselves as slaves to get close to Hunter," she continues, pausing near the fire.
"And hopefully find a way to rescue the others." She drops into the chair, legs crossing casually.
"Excuse us," Neva murmurs, already sensing the turn this conversation is about to take.
"It's fine, you can stay," Sky says as Neva starts to rise with her daughter.
Neva pauses, a flicker of confusion crossing her face.
"You're one of us now," Sky assures her with a gentle smile. "Our partner in this mission."
"She doesn't need to know everything," Rhett says, rising to his feet. "No need to weigh yourself down with details that don't matter." He extends a hand toward her, his voice gentle in reassurance.
Neva nods. "I know," she whispers, slipping her hand into his as she rises to her feet.
"I'll tell you everything you need to know," he murmurs, his eyes holding hers with quiet resolve.
She offers him a faint smile. "Come on, Naya." With the damp but neatly folded towels gathered in one arm, she takes her daughter's tiny hand.
"Let's see what your brothers are up to," she says as they step toward the door.
"Okay," Inaya murmurs softly.
Rhett watches their retreating figures, his heart twisting as guilt gnaws at him—wishing he could tear away the root of her quiet turmoil and bear the weight of her aching burden himself.
He sighs once his wife is out of sight, the warmth of her presence fading from the room. Turning back, he finds Sky seated with her arms crossed, duty sharpening her gaze as it fixes on him.
"There's been a change of plans," Rhett says, his tone clipped and professional—though the ache in his chest betrays how keenly he already misses Neva's warmth.