SERAPHINA’S POV
Finally, blessedly, the press conference came to an end.
We were ushered next to the family waiting area, where laughter and tears collided in a symphony of joy.
The space itself had been softened from the sharp grandeur of the hall. Warm lantern-light pooled in golden circles across the polished floor. Plush couches ringed the chamber, and fragrant sprays of lilies and winter roses lined the walls.
The air buzzed with relief and triumph, scented with salt of sweat and tears and the sweetness of flowers.
Finn’s parents nearly bowled him over the moment we crossed the threshold.
His father, a tall man with the same wiry frame and broad shoulders as his son, clapped him on the back so hard I thought Finn might crack a rib.
“That’s my boy!” he boomed, voice echoing. His mother swatted at him, tearfully scolding, “Not so hard, Harold, he’s bruised already!”
But her arms wound around Finn with crushing strength anyway, her head barely skimming his chin.
