Archie’s POV
My monthly security review is scheduled for two PM, standard protocol I've maintained for the Hale estate since they hired me three years ago.
I let myself in through the front entrance—they gave me a key years ago, trust that suddenly feels weighted given everything with Maya.
I find the whole family in the living room, and the scene stops me in the doorway.
The twins are on the floor building a castle out of blocks, Nina narrating some story about dragons while Lisa positions each piece with precision.
Xander sits in the armchair holding Hope against his chest, one hand supporting her tiny head. Daphne is curled on the couch with a book, but she keeps glancing up at Xander and the baby, smiling softly each time their eyes meet.
It's domestic, peaceful. The kind of family tableau that belongs in magazines.
Xander looks happier than I've seen him in months. Maybe since before Daphne's pregnancy complications began. There's a lightness to him that wasn't there even two weeks ago.
"Archie." Daphne notices me first, setting her book aside. "We weren't expecting you until later."
"Traffic was better than I expected." I step into the room, nodding at Xander. "Just here for the monthly review. I can come back if this is a bad time."
"No, it's fine." Xander carefully shifts Hope in his arms, standing with the practiced ease of someone who's done this a thousand times in six weeks. "Let me just put her down for her nap. Coffee in the kitchen?"
"Sounds good."
I wait while Xander disappears upstairs. The twins show me their block castle, and I make appropriately impressed noises.
Daphne asks about work, and I deflect with generalities, not mentioning Philip's warning or the performance concerns that have been keeping me up at night.
When Xander returns, we move to the kitchen. He starts the coffee maker, pulls down mugs, settles across from me at the island with the familiarity of someone completely at ease in his own space.
"How's Hope doing?" I ask, because the question feels necessary and genuine.
"Better." Xander's face softens when he talks about her. "The medication is helping. Her breathing's improved, she's eating better. Still a long road ahead—surgeries, monitoring, all of it. But we're managing."
"And you and Daphne?"
The question comes out before I can stop it, too personal maybe, but Xander doesn't seem to mind. If anything, his expression grows even more open.
"We're really finding our way back," he says quietly. "The crisis with Hope somehow made everything else matter less. The impossible choice at the hospital, the weeks of distance—none of it feels as important anymore."
He pours coffee into both mugs, slides one across to me.
"We're remembering why we fell in love in the first place. That we're on the same team. Hope's diagnosis is devastating. But it's also somehow clarifying. Makes you realize what actually matters."
I watch my friend talk about his wife with a tenderness that makes something ache in my chest.
This is what I want: this depth of connection, this partnership that survives even the worst circumstances. This certainty that you've found the person you're meant to face life with.
"I'm glad," I tell him honestly. "You two deserve to be happy."
"We're getting there." Xander's smile is small but genuine. "One day at a time."
We shift to business—security protocols, updated camera placements, staff background checks. Standard items that take maybe twenty minutes to review.
I'm about to wrap up when Xander's expression changes slightly, becomes more thoughtful.
"How are things with Maya?" he asks casually, but there's something underneath the question I can't quite identify.
My stomach tightens. "Good. Really good, actually."
"She seems happy." Xander studies his coffee mug. "More settled lately, less... I don't know. Distracted maybe?"
I think about the battery incident, about Maya in his office at two AM. About the way she's been lately—present but somehow not, engaged but with something always held back.
"She's great," I hear myself say. "We're thinking about taking a trip together. Maybe she'll move in."
Xander nods slowly. "That's good. She's been wonderful with the family. The twins adore her, and Daphne trusts her completely." He looks up at me then. "You trust her?"
The question lands heavier than it should.
"Yes," I say, and it's not entirely a lie. I do trust her. Or I want to. Or I'm choosing to because the alternative is too painful. "I trust her."
"Then that's good enough for me." Xander's response is immediate, final. "If you trust her, Archie, then there's nothing to worry about. You're the best judge of character I know."
The faith in his voice makes guilt twist in my stomach. He's trusting my judgment about someone I'm increasingly uncertain about. I finish my coffee and leave shortly after, the weight of Xander's trust sitting heavy on my shoulders.
That evening, I meet Maya at my apartment. She's there when I arrive, having let herself in with the key I gave her last month.
She's made dinner—pasta and salad, nothing fancy but thoughtful—and she greets me with a kiss that feels almost normal.
Almost.
Over dinner, I tell her about my conversation with Xander. About how happy he and Daphne seem despite Hope's diagnosis. How they're finding their way back to each other through crisis instead of letting it tear them apart.
"That's what I want," I hear myself saying. "What they have. Building a life with someone even through the hardest moments."
Maya's fork pauses halfway to her mouth. "That sounds nice."
"I want it with you. I want us to plan something real. Not just talk about Italy someday—actually book the trip."
The words come easier than I expected.
"Or maybe you should move in here. Stop splitting time between the estate and my apartment, just... be here. With me. Building toward something."
I'm rambling now, but I can't seem to stop. "I know it's fast. We've only been together a few months. But when you know, you know. Right? And I know with you, Maya. I know you're who I want."
She sets down her fork carefully. "You want me to move in?"
"Yes. Or we take the Italy trip. Or both. Something that signals we're building toward a future, not just enjoying the present." I reach across the table for her hand. "What do you think?"
"Yes," she says immediately. "Italy sounds perfect. And moving in—yes. Let's do it."
The words are right, the agreement is everything I wanted to hear.
But something about her delivery feels off. There's a distance in her expression that wasn't there before, like she's watching this conversation happen from somewhere far away.
"You okay?" I ask, squeezing her hand.
"I'm fine." She squeezes back, but the pressure feels mechanical. "Just tired. It's been a long week at the estate."
We finish dinner and move to the couch.
Maya tucks herself against my side like always, head on my shoulder, fingers tracing patterns on my chest. The position is familiar, comfortable. But she's quiet in a way that feels heavier than peaceful.
"Maya?" I tilt her face up to look at me. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She kisses me softly. "I'm just thinking about the trip. About us. About the future."
The smile she gives me holds something hollow at its center.