The mattress dipped.
Seraphine lifted Elias from the crib with one hand under his ribs and the other behind his skull. She settled him against her chest. Her silver threaded apron scratched his cheek, and she smelled of lavender, parchment, and dry coin dust.
Elias tried to keep his adult mind separate from the contact.
His body refused.
Warmth, heartbeat, and gentle motion reached the infant nervous system before pride could stop them. His muscles loosened. His head rested against her collarbone. Comfort took him without anyone's permission at all.
It felt unearned.
His mother on Earth had grown distant after Dorian vanished on Cradle Planet. Their apartment had become a set of cold routines. Meals in silence. Doors shut. Elias learned to expect little and ask for less.
That history made Seraphine's ease feel dangerous. She touched his hair without bargaining for anything. She held him as if he belonged to her completely, and the body believed her.
