My heart clenched as I glanced down at our son. Kael lay curled under thick blankets near the hearth, his pale skin almost translucent in the flickering firelight. His breathing was soft, shallow, each rise and fall of his chest a quiet battle.
Born with a fragile heart, Kael had known more pain in his few years than most did in a lifetime. He couldn’t run with the other pups, couldn’t train, couldn’t laugh freely without exhausting himself. It wasn’t fair—not to him, not to us.
“This isn’t just for Kael,” I pressed, my voice steadying. “It’s for us too. A night together, like it used to be. Maybe—” I hesitated, willing my voice not to break, “Maybe it could remind us of what we have.”
Lucian’s gaze finally moved, locking onto mine. For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker there—regret, maybe, or sorrow—but it was gone before I could name it.
“What do you expect me to do, Sera?” His voice was low, clipped, each word carefully measured.
I swallowed hard. “Be there. That’s all I’m asking. Be there for him, for me. Just once.”