Breakfast wrapped in the easy rhythm of clinking plates and soft laughter—Valentina's dry quips cutting through the air like sharpened silk, Maya's quiet giggles bubbling up like spring water, the occasional low hum from Phei as he watched them both move around the kitchen island like they belonged there, like the space itself had been waiting for them to fill it.
Maya and Valentina rose together to clear the table—sleeves rolled to their elbows, hair tied back in loose knots, domestic in a way that made Phei's chest tighten with something warm and possessive.
The sight of them side by side—Valentina's tall, dark elegance and Maya's small, silver radiance—felt like home in a way he hadn't known he was missing.
Cassiopeia stood last.
She smoothed the hem of her dress—short, black, clinging like liquid sin—and fixed her eyes on Phei.
"I'd like to talk to you," she said. Voice low. Velvet over steel.
Phei met her gaze—calm, amused—and nodded once.
They rose together.
