Kade’s jaw clenches. Through the mate bond, I feel his sharp, sudden spike of paternal anxiety. Margot said his neural load was stabilizing. This shouldn't be happening.
It’s not a neural load, I project back, my mental voice fierce, unyielding. It’s a biological imperative. He’s twelve. His body is changing. The genesis energy is just fueling the growth.
I walk over to Asher, wrapping my bandaged arms around his small, trembling shoulders. I don't use magic. I don't project my aura. I just use my presence.
Look at me, baby, I say softly. You aren't just planting seeds. You’re the gardener. A gardener doesn't force the growth. He prunes it. Feel the toast. Feel the crust. Ground the energy in the physical reality of the bread.
Asher closes his eyes. He takes a deep, shuddering breath.
