The airlock cycles with a heavy, pneumatic hiss.
The ramp lowers, and the crisp, pine-scented air of the Pacific Northwest floods the cabin. It smells of damp earth, blooming jasmine, and the faint, metallic tang of ozone.
It smells like life.
I carry Asher down the ramp, my heavily bandaged hands trembling beneath his small, freezing weight. He is still unconscious, his head lolling against my shoulder, his breathing shallow and ragged. But his skin is warm. He is alive.
Kade is right beside me, his right arm wrapped securely around my waist, taking half my weight. His left sleeve is pinned neatly to his chest, his face pale and drawn, his green eyes locked on our son. Through the mate bond, I feel his profound, overwhelming relief.
Margot is waiting at the bottom of the ramp, a medi
