Thalia’s POV
The second Lysander walks through my door, I know something's changed.
Not just the haircut or the way he carries himself—though both are different, sharper somehow. It's his eyes.
He looks at me and there's no pain there. No longing, no residual heartbreak, no weighted history trying to drag us both under. Just affection, clean and uncomplicated.
When he hugs me hello—actually hugs me, pulls me in without hesitation—something in my chest loosens. This is what I wanted for him. What I've been hoping for since the mate bond chose Kieran and left Lysander bleeding out emotionally.
"You look good," I tell him, pulling back to study his face.
"Colorado agrees with me," his smile reaches his eyes this time. "Or maybe I'm just finally figuring out how to be a person instead of a disaster."
The kids tackle him before I can respond and suddenly it's chaos—Luna asking about his “new friend” from Denver, Orion showing his new book about the space he’s going to read next, Phoenix just clinging to Lysander’s leg like he's the only stable thing in her world.
I watch him with them. The way he kneels down to Luna's level without being asked, how he doesn't dismiss Phoenix's demands or Orion's intellectual tangents. He's present in a way he wasn't before, when being around me meant constantly managing his own pain.
Over lunch, I can't stop studying him. The kids chatter but I'm cataloging changes—the set of his shoulders, the ease in his laugh, the way his phone buzzes and he smiles at the screen without immediately hiding it.
"The way you look at me is different," I tell him when the kids are outside destroying my yard.
We really talk, for the first time since the mate bond completed. He confesses about being in love with a fantasy version of me, about seeing me clearly now instead of through the filter of what he wanted.
Then he drops the bomb about the hunter's daughter.
I'm processing that revelation when the kids drag him outside and I'm left standing in my kitchen, trying to reconcile the Lysander I knew—safe, steady, careful—with the one who's apparently ready to risk everything for a woman who could destroy him.
It's growth, real growth, and it still confuses me that I want that for him so badly it hurts.
The next morning, I corner him before Kieran wakes up. The kids are still asleep, the house quiet in that pre-dawn way that makes everything feel fragile.
"We need to talk about the school meeting," I pour coffee with shaking hands. "It happens again."
I tell him about Luna's teacher calling us in, about the principal's careful suggestions that maybe Luna would be better served in a different environment, about the barely concealed disgust when they realized our children aren't normal.
"They called them aggressive and said Luna's empathy is making other kids uncomfortable," My voice cracks despite my best efforts. "They said Phoenix needs behavioral intervention and Orion's intelligence is disruptive to classroom dynamics."
"The same song again… They want you to pull them out."
"I think they still want them gone: politely, professionally, but definitely gone," I'm gripping my coffee mug so hard my knuckles go white. "Our kids are too powerful, too different, too much for their perfect little human school to handle."
Lysander's expression goes dark. Not angry—something colder, more dangerous.
"What did Kieran say?"
"He's furious, planning to go full Alpha on the administration, which I get but also terrifies me because it'll just confirm everything they think about us," I set down my mug before I break it. "I don't know what to do. These are our kids, and I'm supposed to protect them."
He moves around the counter, pulls me into a hug that's different from yesterday's greeting. This one's support, pure and uncomplicated.
"You are protecting them," his voice is firm against my hair. "By not letting bigots make you feel like your kids are the problem."
"But what if they are? What if I'm pushing them into environments where they'll never fit because I want them to be normal so badly—"
"Stop it," he pulls back, hands on my shoulders. "Your kids are incredible: brilliant, powerful, kind. Any school would be lucky to have them, and if these people can't see that, that's their failure, not yours."
My eyes burn. "You mean that?"
"Thalia," he waits until I meet his eyes. "You know I'm always on your side. Even when I was falling apart over you, even when everything was complicated—I've been on your side."
Something in me breaks, just cracks open and lets the fear pour out.
"What if I'm failing them? What if keeping them here is just my ego, my need to prove they can fit in?" I'm crying now, can't stop it. "What if I'm doing to them what my parents did to me—forcing them to be something they're not?"
"You're nothing like your parents," his voice is steel. "You're fighting for your kids, not against them, and that's the difference."
I let myself cry on his shoulder while he holds steady. This is what I needed—someone who knows our history, knows me, but isn't drowning in his own pain anymore.
When I finally pull back, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, he's watching me with something like determination.
"What are you going to do?" he asks.
"I don't know. Kieran’s Alpha energy flourishes again, you know. He wants to threaten them with lawyers and pack influence. But guess what? Now I want to burn the school down and homeschool forever," I laugh but it comes out broken. "Neither is probably healthy."
"Or you could do both. Threaten them legally, pull the kids out, find somewhere better," He leans against the counter. "You've got options and backup, the whole pack would burn that school down if you asked."
"I know," And I do, but knowing doesn't make it easier.
The kids wake up then, thundering down the stairs with demands for breakfast and attention. Lysander helps with pancakes while I manage chaos.
Later, watching him leave for the airport, I realize something fundamental has shifted. He's not mine anymore—not in the way he used to be, haunted by what we almost were.
He's his own person, finally. I'm genuinely happy for him, even if his happiness involves a potentially fatal attraction.
That's his disaster to navigate, but I've got my own.