Felicia walked into the Crescent Moon packhouse with Danny's hand locked in hers and Max pressed tight against her chest. The hall stretched wide, polished floors gleaming under crystal chandeliers, cream walls rising to vaulted ceilings. Stairs curved up to the second floor on her right. Doors lined both sides of the corridor ahead.
She stopped. Her eyes swept left, then right, counting exits, measuring distances, cataloging every angle where someone could appear.
Danny's fingers gripped hers harder. Max's breathing warmed her collarbone.
"I won't live in the same room with you." Her voice came out flat, empty of everything except fact.
Damien stood three feet away. Close enough that she could see his chest expand with a slow breath. His jaw tightened, muscle jumping beneath skin. Then released.
"I'll prepare a separate wing." No argument. No negotiation.
He turned and gestured to a woman in a black uniform hovering near the staircase. The woman started forward. Felicia didn't wait. She moved down the left corridor, her spine straight, her grip on Danny's hand firm. Max's weight shifted against her ribs.
Footsteps sounded behind her. Not close. Not pressing. Just there.
She didn't look back. Her shoulders stayed level. She counted doors as she passed them—one, two, three—then stopped at the fourth.
The handle turned cold under her palm. She pushed the door open. Lavender and fresh linen filled her nose. Two beds sat against opposite walls, white covers tucked tight. A wardrobe stood between them. Windows faced a garden she could see through sheer curtains.
Felicia crossed to the first window. Tested the lock. It clicked smooth, new. She moved to the second window. Same. Her fingers ran along the sill, checking for gaps.
She opened the wardrobe. Empty hangers waited inside. She reached in, ran her hand along the back panel. Solid. No hidden spaces.
"This is your room." She turned to Danny and Max. Her voice dropped half a degree softer.
Danny's fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt. His eyes flickered to the doorway, then back to her face. "Will he come in?"
Her throat tightened. She swallowed it down. "Not without my permission."
"I won't." Damien's voice came from the threshold. Neutral. Careful. Each word measured. "Not until you say."
Felicia's spine straightened. She turned her head and met his eyes. Two seconds. His expression stayed blank, controlled. She nodded once. Short, sharp.
She didn't tell him to leave. The words didn't form in her mouth.
She didn't invite him closer either. Her feet stayed planted.
The silence stretched. Damien remained in the doorway. His hand rested on the frame, fingers curved but relaxed. He didn't cross the threshold. Didn't lean in.
His eyes moved from her face to Danny's, then to Max bundled in her arms. Something passed through his expression—brief, gone before she could name it.
Then he stepped back. His hand fell from the frame. He turned and walked down the corridor, his footsteps fading slow.
Evening light slanted through the windows when Felicia finally unpacked Danny's clothes into the wardrobe. She folded each shirt with precise movements, lined them up by color. Max's blue blanket went on the left bed. Danny's stuffed wolf on the right pillow.
She carried the water pitcher to the bathroom. Ran the tap cold. Filled it to the brim and set it on the nightstand between the beds.
Under the sink, she found a first aid kit. She opened it. Counted bandages, checked the antiseptic bottle, shook the painkiller container. Everything she needed sat right there. She wouldn't have to ask anyone for anything.
A knock sounded on the door. Three taps, evenly spaced, deliberate.
"Yes." She didn't move toward it. Her hand stayed on the edge of the sink.
"I've placed guards in the corridor." Damien's voice came through the wood. Still that same careful tone, stripped of command.
Felicia crossed the room. Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet. She opened the door. Not wide. Just enough to see his face, his shoulders, the way his hands hung at his sides.
"I want two warriors outside the children's doors at night." Her chin lifted. Her eyes didn't blink. "My wing stays closed to everyone. No exceptions."
"I'll give the order now." He turned without a pause, without asking for clarification.
She watched him walk to where two warriors stood at attention down the hall. His voice carried back to her—level, professional, empty of the dominance she'd heard him use before. Just instructions. Simple. Clear.
The warriors nodded. One moved immediately to the children's door. The other took position across from him.
When Damien came back, his steps slowed as he approached. His boots made soft sounds on the runner carpet. "Do you need food?"
"I'll manage." Her hand rose to grip the doorframe. Her knuckles pressed white against the wood.
He held out a blanket. Thick, soft, the color of storm clouds. "For Max."
Felicia reached for it. Her fingers closed on the fabric—warm, heavy. Damien's hands released the second she touched it. His fingers pulled back fast, precise, careful not to brush hers.
He stood close enough that she could see the rigid set of his jaw. The tension pulling across his shoulders. The way his hands curled into loose fists at his sides.
She didn't step back. Her feet stayed exactly where they were. Her breathing stayed even.
The air between them felt thick. Charged. Wrong in ways she couldn't name.
"Goodnight." The word came out dry, stripped.
"Goodnight." His matched hers. Same tone. Same emptiness.
He took one step back. Then another. Turned and walked down the corridor without looking over his shoulder. Without pausing. Without waiting for her to give him permission to stay even one second longer.
Felicia closed the door. Not fast. Not a slam. She pushed it slow, deliberate, until the latch clicked soft into place.
Her palm stayed flat against the wood. The blanket hung from her other hand. Her pulse beat hard in her throat. Steady. Insistent.
The corridor outside had gone silent. No footsteps. No breathing sounds. No voices. Just quiet pressing against the door.
She leaned in. Pressed her ear to the wood. The cold seeped into her skin.
Nothing. Absolute stillness.
Her chest tightened. The blanket in her hand smelled sharp—cedar and something else. Something that made her fingers curl deeper into the fabric without permission.
One minute passed. Then two. Five. Her legs didn't move. Her hand stayed locked on the door. Her ear stayed pressed to the wood.
The silence felt wrong. Heavy. Full of waiting.
And then she heard it. A single footstep. Far down the corridor. Fading. Moving away.
Her breath caught. Held. The footstep didn't return.