Lysander's POV
Colorado has a different rhythm than Seattle.
Slower, quieter, the kind of pace that forces you to sit with your thoughts instead of running from them. I've been here three weeks, and the silence that felt oppressive at first has started to feel like refuge.
The triplets arrived yesterday for their promised visit—a long weekend that Thalia arranged with careful neutrality, Kieran signing off without objection.
Now Phoenix sprawls across my living room floor with colored pencils, drawing wolves that look increasingly realistic. Orion has commandeered my home office to research something about quantum mechanics on my computer. Luna sits curled in the armchair by the window, a book open on her lap but her eyes watching me with that unsettling perception she inherited from her mother.
"Your apartment is smaller than Dad's penthouse." Phoenix announces this without judgment, just observation. "But it feels more lived-in. Like someone actually uses the furniture."
"Your father's penthouse is designed to impress clients." I settle onto the couch with my coffee. "This place is designed for actually living."
"I like it." She returns to her drawing. "It smells like you."
The simple acceptance in her voice cracks something in my chest. These children—they've never treated me differently despite everything that happened. Never withdrawn their affection or made me feel like an outsider looking in.
"How's school been?" I redirect the conversation to safer ground. "Your mother mentioned things have settled down since the incident."
"Tyler transferred." Orion's voice drifts from the office. "His parents decided the pack school wasn't 'appropriate' for their son after what happened."
"Good riddance." Phoenix's pencil moves with aggressive strokes. "He was mean to everyone, not just us."
"The other kids are nicer now." Luna's quiet voice draws my attention. "I think they were scared of us before. Now they understand we're just kids who happen to have Alpha parents."
"And an Alpha uncle." Phoenix grins at me. "I told them you once threw a desk across a room when you were angry. They were very impressed."
"I did not throw a desk across a room."
"Well, Mom did, but I figured your version sounded cooler."
I laugh despite myself. These children have a gift for lightening even the heaviest moments.
"What about home?" I ask more carefully. "How are things with your mom and dad?"
The three of them exchange glances—that silent communication siblings develop, especially triplets who share something deeper than most.
"Better." Orion emerges from the office, pushing his glasses up. "Dad listens more now. Mom seems less tense. They actually talk to each other instead of around each other."
"Dad made breakfast last weekend." Phoenix adds this like it's significant. "Actual breakfast, not just cereal. Pancakes with chocolate chips."
"They hold hands!" Luna's observation is softer. "When they think we're not looking. Mom smiles more than she used to."
The updates should bring pure relief. Instead, they land with complicated weight: happiness for Thalia mixed with the grief I'm still learning to carry.
"I'm glad." The words come out genuine despite the ache beneath them. "Your mother deserves to be happy."
Luna watches me with those too-knowing eyes. The book in her lap closes softly. "Uncle Lysander?"
"Yes?"
"Are you going to marry Claire?"
The question hits like a physical blow. I set down my coffee carefully, buying time to compose a response. "What makes you ask that?"
"We're not blind." Orion settles onto the couch beside me, his serious face more adult than any eight-year-old should manage. "We see the way you look at her when she comes to the office. The way she looks at you."
"And you get this little smile when she texts you." Phoenix abandons her drawing, sitting up to face me. "Like you're trying not to be happy but can't help it."
"When did you three become relationship experts?"
"We learned from watching Mom and Dad figure things out." Luna's voice carries no judgment. "We know what it looks like when someone's trying to decide if they're allowed to want something."
The insight startles me. These children see more than anyone gives them credit for—feel more, understand more, process the complicated emotions swirling around them with clarity most adults lack.
"Claire is..." I search for honest words. "Someone I care about. She’s been patient with me while I've been figuring things out."
"Do you love her?" Phoenix asks directly.
"I think I could." The admission comes easier than expected.
"Mom said you needed to find someone who could love you without limits." Luna's quiet observation carries weight. "Claire doesn't have limits, does she? No mate bonds or pack obligations pulling her somewhere else?"
"No." I swallow past the tightness in my throat. "She's human. Free to choose whoever she wants."
"And she chooses you." Orion states it like a logical conclusion. "That seems valuable."
"When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been wise." He pushes his glasses up again. "People just don't listen to eight-year-olds."
Phoenix laughs, breaking the moment's intensity. "You should invite her to dinner while we're here. We want to meet her properly, not just at the office."
"You want to interrogate her, you mean."
"Same thing." Phoenix grins without shame. "We need to make sure she's good enough for our uncle."
The suggestion settles into my mind, taking root. Claire has been so patient, waiting on the edges of my grief while I processed everything that happened in Seattle. She's asked for nothing, demanded nothing, simply made herself available for whatever I was ready to give.
Maybe it's time to give more.
"I'll invite her." The decision crystallizes as I speak it. "For dinner tomorrow night. But you three have to promise not to scare her away."
"We'll be perfect angels." Phoenix's expression suggests otherwise.
"We'll be ourselves." Luna corrects gently. "Which is better than perfect."
I pull out my phone, type a message before I can overthink it. Dinner tomorrow? The triplets want to meet you properly. No pressure.
The response comes within minutes. I'd love that. What should I bring?
Just yourself. Fair warning: they've promised to interrogate you.
I can handle interrogation. See you tomorrow.
I stare at the exchange, feeling something unfamiliar unfurl in my chest. Not the consuming fire I felt for Thalia—not that desperate need that drove me to challenge my brother for the chance to be with her. This is different. Warmer. Gentler. The kind of feeling that builds slowly instead of exploding all at once.
Maybe wanting less is the answer.
Maybe the all-consuming passion I thought I needed was actually the problem—too intense to sustain, too demanding to leave room for the quieter joys of partnership.
"You're smiling." Luna's observation pulls me back to the present. "The real kind, not the one you wear to make people think you're okay."
"Am I?" I hadn't noticed.
"It looks good on you." She returns to her book, but I catch the small smile on her own face. "You should do it more often."
Phoenix has returned to her drawing—wolves now, but also a figure that might be Claire based on the brown hair and kind expression. Orion disappears back into my office, muttering about particle physics.
I sit in my Colorado living room surrounded by children who love me despite everything, contemplating a future I hadn't allowed myself to imagine. One where peace isn't a consolation prize but something worth choosing. One where gentle warmth might be exactly what my battered heart needs to heal.
The ache for Thalia is still there—probably always will be, tucked into a corner of my heart that will never fully close. But it's quieter now, shared space with something new and growing.
Claire isn't Thalia. She never will be, and I'm beginning to understand that's not a limitation but a gift.
Tomorrow, I'll cook dinner for a woman who sees me clearly and wants me anyway. I'll watch three impossible children welcome her into our strange, extended family. I'll take another step toward a future that feels less like settling and more like choosing.
Peace might be something I can learn to want. The thought doesn't feel like surrender anymore.