Jade
The drive back to Zade’s cabin felt like slipping between dreams—too quiet, too surreal, too tender to be real.
Outside the window, the mountains loomed steady in the distance, the trees a blur of green and gold. I barely saw any of it. My palm rested over the slight swell of my lower stomach, hidden beneath my sweater, but impossible to ignore. With every mile, my heart pounded louder—part fear, part wonder, part the overwhelming ache of a truth I hadn’t told him yet.
Not yet.
The cabin came into view like a memory reawakening. Small. Sturdy. Still standing—just like us.
Zade stepped out of the car with that effortless confidence he always carried, circling around to open my door before I could reach for the handle. He grabbed my bags, no questions asked, no hesitation. His presence steadied me, but it only made the weight of the secret pressing against my ribs harder to breathe through.
I followed him up the porch steps, my boots heavy with hesitation.
He turned at the top, dark eyes softening as they met mine. Then, without a word, he held out his hand.
I stared at it, at him. My fingers twitched.
You have to tell him, a voice inside me whispered.
But instead, I slipped my hand into his.
His grip closed around mine—warm, sure—and for the first time in months, something in me unclenched.
We crossed the threshold together, and the cabin greeted us with the familiar scent of pinewood, faint smoke, and him. The mug I had left behind was still on the counter. My scarf still draped over the back of his chair. Ghosts of a girl who hadn’t known she’d return.
But this time, I wasn’t coming back alone.
Zade stepped behind me, his arms sliding around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder like no time had passed at all.
“You’re really here,” he breathed, voice low, cracking at the edges.
“I’m here,” I whispered, heart hammering. “And I’m not running.”
We moved around the space like we never left it, unpacking my life into his, folding clothes, tucking things into drawers. He watched me the way someone might watch sunlight after too many storms—awed, cautious, grateful.
When the last box was tucked away and the golden afternoon light spilled across the floor, we curled up on the couch, limbs tangled, skin warm against skin.
My head rested against his shoulder, fingers drifting lazily along his wrist where the bond pulsed, stronger now—as if it already knew.
“You know it’s not going to be easy,” Zade said, breaking the quiet. “Being Luna. Being with me. There are still people who think you don’t belong.”
I looked up at him, calm and certain. “Let them.”
His jaw tightened. “There’s more. A new council is forming—one that doesn’t trust me. They’re watching. Waiting for me to fail.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” His eyes dropped to my stomach—unaware. “They’ll use anything they can to control me. And if they knew I had more to lose…”
He didn’t finish. But he didn’t need to.
The words were there, unspoken. If they knew you were pregnant.
And still, he didn’t know.
I opened my mouth, but the words tangled on my tongue. Not yet, I thought. Please, not while we’re finally okay.
Instead, I whispered, “I don’t want safe. I want real. I want you.”
He cupped my face like he was holding something breakable and kissed me, slow and deep and reverent.
“I’ll spend every day proving you made the right choice,” he murmured against my lips.
“You already have,” I said, smiling through the ache in my chest.
We stayed there, wrapped in warmth and promises, until the sky turned dusky blue. For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe we had made it. That this was the beginning of something new.
But as I laid my head in his lap, hand protectively over my stomach, a cold wind rattled the window.
Zade tensed.
His head lifted toward the door, nostrils flaring.
“What is it?” I asked, sitting up.
His eyes darkened. “Someone’s here.”
I froze. The bond between us flared—protective, urgent.
Outside, the unmistakable sound of boots on gravel.
And then—three sharp knocks at the door.
Zade stood.
Every inch of him shifted from warmth to warning.
I reached for him instinctively. “Zade—”
He turned his head slowly, eyes meeting mine.
This time, they didn’t soften.
This time, they burned.
“We’re not alone anymore,” he said.
And deep inside me, where the bond throbbed with life—so did something else.
The child I hadn’t told him about… kicked.