My mother’s face flashes in my mind, not weak, not broken, but stubborn and determined in the way she always was when she made a decision that no one else agreed with.
“She chose love over design,” I say quietly.
Lucian inclines his head slightly.
“And you stand in design with love already present,” he replies.
The bond pulses once more, and the rhythm does not spike.
It locks.
Axel’s grounding presence deepens.
Atticus’s ignition sharpens but does not flare.
And the distribution through me spreads evenly into the territory beyond the dungeon walls.
The packhouse responds.
Not audibly.
Subtly.
The torches steady.
The air pressure evens.
The tension in the stone reduces by degrees.
Axel inhales slowly.
“It feels… complete,” he says.
The word settles between us.
Complete.
