Deep in the silent night, a whispering flutter marks the turning of another page in the thin, worn Scripture beneath Neva's fingers.
She draws her knees closer, warmth gathered beneath the duvet, and fills the waiting page of her notebook with the Word resting over the open Scripture.
A soft creak stirs as the worn door opens and closes again, careful footsteps padding across the waiting wood.
"You're still up?" Rhett's gentle voice glides along the wooden walls of the weary, old cottage, newly made habitable after some hurried renovations.
Neva only hums, her attention tethered to the notebook as the mattress creaks in a hush, dipping gently beneath his weight.
"He must've felt alone... afraid," Rhett murmurs, his voice barely audible.
Neva glances at Rhett, his head propped on a fist, his eyes soft but shadowed as they linger on Rhean sleeping soundly between them, cocooned beneath the covers.
He lifts his gaze to meet hers, the amber of the lantern the only glow in the darkened room, his smile a soothing balm feathered gently over her sore heart.
"It's freezing," she says, tugging the covers over him.
He catches her hand, her confused gaze caught by his playful, fevered smile.
"Help warm me our way," he whispers, pressing small, tender kisses to her fingers.
She pulls her hand back, heat blooming over her face. "I've got work to do."
"Tch." He flops back against the pillow, an arm folded behind his neck.
"It's almost three in the morning, Angel," he says softly. "It won't do you any good staying up this late. Especially in this condition."
"I'll be done soon," she simply replies, leafing through another page before scribbling across her notebook.
He releases a quiet sigh. "Our boy gets the stubbornness from you." He brushes a finger along Rhean's nose before a soft boop. "I'm worried this one will too."
She presses her lips together. "Don't you just blame me—
like you're any more docile!"
"Oh, really?" He arches a brow.
"Have you ever actually let your husband win a quarrel?"
She parts her lips to argue, but no words emerge.
She can't think of a single time she actually let him win against her stubborn streak.
"None?" Amusement flits across his face, the teasing grin tugging airily at his lips.
She rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the Scripture in quiet surrender.
She lifts a hand to her lips as a yawn slips out, her eyes growing heavy with sleep.
"Your body's betraying you." He pushes against the mattress, the worn springs sighing beneath him. "You can't expect to do anything without proper rest."
She gasps as he snatches up the thick Scripture and notebook in a single sweep.
"Give them back—" she exclaims, reaching, but he leans back just out of reach.
She pushes forward, fingers grasping at air as he raises the Scripture and notebook above his head,
a teasing glint flickering beneath his heavy lidded eyes.
"I said give them back," she hisses, frustration sharp in her voice, keeping as quiet as she can while their slumbering son whines and shifts between them.
"You'll wake Rhean up," he murmurs with a shrug.
"How hard can it be to admit you're tired?"
"I can manage another hour. I'm not nearly that tired!" she protests, cheeks warming.
"I saw you nodding off at dinner." He leans back just out of reach, lifting the Books higher as she reaches for them once more.
She sinks back onto the mattress, frustration spilling from a heavy sigh. "It's because of the pregnancy!"
"All the more reason not to push yourself too hard," he says gently,
his gaze warm. "Remember to balance rest with work, Angel."
Her shoulders slump,
her gaze softening with exhaustion. "We don't have time, Rhett."
"Of course we do," he says gently, calm and reassuring. He places the Scripture and notebook on the nightstand before bridging the space between them.
She shakes her head, leaning carefully against the wall. "We only have until spring—and there are still over fifty thousand believers left to gather."
"Maybe the angel was wrong," he says, easing down beside her. "Maybe he meant twenty instead of seventy—you know, just a slip of the tongue?"
She chuckles lightly. A lazy grin etches across his lips, but worry creeps into his eyes as her lips quiver, warm tears slipping down her cheeks without her realizing.
"Oh no, Angel." His warm, calloused hands cradle her cheeks, a thumb brushing away her tears. "Come here," he murmurs, pulling her into his arms in a heartbeat.
"Shh…" He strokes her hair,
a kiss resting on her head as she whimpers, hands gripping his shirt.
"We—we still—" she chokes, face pressed to his chest.
"I—I don't know h—how—" Her sobs break loose, tears staining his shirt,
her heart crushed beneath a road steeped in darkness, no ember of light breaking through the fog of her soul.
"Hush…" he breathes, holding her tighter. "He will make a way. We'll be—"
"He did," she cuts in. "It's just—I—I'm too stupid to see it!"
"No," he murmurs. "You're not. You're my smart, my beautiful wife... Your heart gold, your courage that of a lioness."
She pulls away enough to meet his eyes through the blur of tears, those warm, dreamy pools a heaven in themselves,
her home—the mirror of his soul.
He tucks a stray curl behind her ear, then leans in slowly, brushing a gentle kiss to her lips.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his words feathering her lips. "I know you miss the twins. I'll get them back." He kisses her again, slower. "I promise."
She leans her forehead against his. "No," she murmurs, shaking her head. "They're safer with him."
He eases back, a frown shadowing his brow as he studies her tear-streaked face. "You don't trust me to protect them?" he asks—so soft, so careful it breaks her heart.
She shakes her head. "Of course I do."
"Is it because I kept the truth from you?" he asks quietly.
"I told you. I kept an eye on him. I made sure Naya was safe. That stuffed toy—it was harmless." He sweetly kisses away her tears, his lips warm and moist against her skin. "And I've ensured he won't attempt anything reckless like that again."
"It's not that." She turns away.
"He loves the twins. They have to be the ones to open his eyes.
It's the only way.
I can only hope he won't endanger my family or the believers any longer."
His gaze hardens. "You know he's being hunted. And it won't stop until he's captured—or dead."
"You can't catch him." She swallows past the tightness in her throat.
"You can't—" Her hand rises to her chest. "He cannot be caught."
"Why?" he asks, voice edged with a grim calm.
"I just know it!" she snaps, voice sharp with veiled emotions.
He inhales slowly,
cradling her head and drawing her into his chest.
"What if we take a break tomorrow?" he asks, fingers lightly brushing her curls.
"We can't," she murmurs, face pressed to his shirt.
"The Word hasn't spread enough. I failed to plant the faith. I failed the people," she whispers through a choke. "I failed Him."
"You're wrong. You're doing an amazing job." He presses a soft kiss to her hair and rests his chin on her head. "He understands you need rest. It'll be alright."
Sniffling, she asks softly, "Is it really okay?"
He chuckles quietly, a smile in his voice. "Of course, Angel."
She curls her fingers around his collar, tilting her chin up to brush her lips against his in a gentle kiss.
"I love you," she whispers, their breaths intertwining.
"I love you more," he murmurs in reply.
He eases her against the pillows, smiling into the kiss as her nimble, practiced fingers start unfastening the buttons of his shirt.
"My Angel, go easy," he murmurs playfully, nipping her lip, only to groan in mock pain as she swats his chest.
"Mama…" Both of them freeze, as still as snowmen outside the shattered window, its cleaves patched with heavy tape, pale fog and snow drifting in through the gaps.
"Dada took it."
A deep, quiet sigh of relief passes them as their son murmurs in his sleep, rolling to the other side, soft snores following in its wake.
Neva and Rhett exchange a soft, breathy laugh—a heaven suspended between four beating hearts in this room, within the blessed cottage shielding them from the freezing winter, living one of the answered prayers in a small world held still against the thrashing of nightmares.
"I can't believe I get to have another of him," he whispers, forehead touching hers.
She smiles, placing his hand over her belly. "Me too."