* Bean Sídhe ;

                ･ﾟ° ☾ ✧ △  𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒂 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒂𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒈𝒐. His fingers trace the curve of her spine in slow, deliberate movements. There’s a weight in his chest, something heavy but soft, the kind of ache that makes him feel both grounded and lost at the same time. He’s never been good with words, and after family's lost, no other ever encouraged him to share his heart, and the years spent learning how to protect it had made him distant, guarded. But with Lydia, it feels different. It’s as though she’s unlocked something inside of him, something that was always there but buried too deep to see the light.

Her words settle over him like a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The promise of a future soon. With him. She’s not asking for the world, not waiting for some perfect moment. She’s just... ready. Ready for them. And that realization hits him like a wave, pulling him under with its force. ❛ Lydia ❜. his voice is low, trembling with a tenderness that surprises him. ❛ I don’t know if you understand... how much it means to hear you say that ❜. His hand moves to her cheek, gently lifting her face to meet his gaze, and in that moment, he doesn’t feel like the man who’s carried the weight of a shattered family and a fractured legacy. He feels like the man she sees him as, the man who wants nothing more than to hold her close and make all of her fears, all of her doubts, disappear.

He lets the silence hang between them for a beat, letting the gravity of her words sink into him, letting the quiet of the moment fill every space in his heart. ❛ I’ve never... I’ve never had this. This ❜. He whispers, his thumb brushing softly over the curve of her jaw. ❛ Not being afraid to want something real, something lasting, something that doesn’t break. I’ve always known how to survive, how to protect... but this? This is new. This is everything I never thought I would be worthy of ❜.

Luca shifts, his body moving with hers as though they’ve always been in sync, and he presses his forehead against hers. He breathes her in, the familiar scent of her skin, the warmth of her breath against his lips, and it’s all so simple, so pure, it’s almost overwhelming. ❛ You said you wanted calm... a family, and I want that too, Lydia. I want the kind of life where I can give you that. Where we can have our own moments of peace in this storm we’ve both been through. I want to build a life with you, one that’s ours. Not a legacy, not a name, not anything anyone else can take from us. Just us ❜.

His hand slides to her back, pulling her closer, the motion instinctive, his voice barely above a whisper now. ❛ And when you say you want that future—soon—when you talk about baby socks and spilled popcorn... I can’t even tell you what that does to me... not to carry the weight of a past I can't seem to move on from... I don’t have to carry it all alone... not any more, because with you, I get to have the one thing I never thought I deserved... a home ❜.

Luca takes a deep breath, his heart full, his words tumbling out before he can stop them. ❛ I know I’m not the easiest person. You know where I’ve been, what I’ve carried. But what you may not know is that I’ll never stop fighting for this. For you. For us. I’ll fight with you, I’ll protect you, I’ll stand by your side through everything, no matter what it takes. And if it comes to it, if there’s ever a fight for our future... then it’s one I’ll go to the ends of the earth for. I’ll fight for this love. For you ❜.

He pulls her even closer, his arms wrapping tightly around her, as if saying the words is not enough—he needs her, needs to feel her warmth, the undeniable presence of her in his life. He lets out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh, as he rests his chin on the top of her head. ❛ And as for you calling me ‘Dad’... I think I could learn to love that... a lot...I want to be that for you. For us ❜.

@botrusanimarum · / &· 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐀 · *

For a long moment she can’t answer him. Not because she doesn’t know what to say — but because the words are too heavy, too bright, sitting like a jewel beneath her ribs, aching to be given and terrified to be spoken. His confession has unmade her in the gentlest way: the man who once wrapped himself in silence now spilling his heart into her hands, raw and unguarded, telling her he wants calm, wants family, wants her as his home. She had asked, half afraid he might flinch, that her timing would be too much, too sharp for the wounds he still carries. But instead he’s here, looking at her with eyes that hold nothing back, and for the first time in years she feels what it is to be chosen — wholly, irrevocably.

Her hand moves before she even thinks to stop it, slipping into the back of his hair, threading through with a need that is as much anchor as it is hunger. When his forehead comes to rest against hers, she feels her chest break open, slow and trembling, because this is him. This man. This storm who believes himself unworthy, this fortress who has made a cathedral out of his own grief — he’s letting her in. ❝ 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐚, ❞ she whispers, and his name fractures in her throat like the first crack of lightning in summer. Her thumb brushes along his jaw, tender and deliberate, forcing him to feel the truth in her touch. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐬. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. ❞ Her lips ghost against his temple as she breathes the vow into his skin.

But when he calls himself unworthy, when he says it like it’s carved into the marrow of his bones, something fierce and protective flares in her chest. She cups his face fully, tilting his gaze to hers, green eyes alight with fire and devotion both. ❝ 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩, ❞ she murmurs, the softness in her voice edged with steel. ❝ 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝. ❞ Her fingers smooth over his cheek, a caress that feels like absolution. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬. 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐚. 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬. ❞ Her voice breaks just slightly on the last word, quiet but deliberate, because she wants him to hear it — wants it to root itself somewhere he can’t dig it out later when his doubts come clawing back.

The words tremble out of her, but her gaze never wavers, sharp and steady, holding him there in the light she refuses to let him forget. Her palm slides down, pressing over the beat of his heart as if to bind it to her own. The silence around them humming with something so sacred it feels like the world itself is listening. She leans in closer until her lips brush his ear, voice slipping lower, warmer, as if confessing a secret she could never give to anyone else. ❝ 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞? ❞ she teases softly, though there’s a truth beneath it that steals the edge from her grin. Her fingers toy absently with the collar of his shirt, like she needs something to ground her while she admits it. ❝ 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐈’𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐠, 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬. 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐮𝐩. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬. ❞

Her smile deepens, softer now, but no less mischievous. She tilts closer, lips grazing the line of his jaw as she lowers her voice. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞, 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐚. 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. ❞

Heat pools in her cheeks, and for once she doesn’t hide it. She presses her mouth to the corner of his lips, lingering, then drifts lower, letting her words fall into the space between kisses: ❝ 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭. 𝐒𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝? 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬. ❞ Her laughter slips out then, breathless and unguarded, the kind of laugh she’s given him only a handful of times, like a rare jewel uncovered. She ducks briefly against his throat, hiding from her own honesty, but her lips still find the hollow of his collarbone, brushing a kiss there as if she can’t stop herself.

When she finally lifts her gaze again, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, and her composure — the armor she wears so easily — is nowhere to be found. Just her. Bare and certain. ❝ 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, ❞ she admits, voice low and steady, carrying the weight of something eternal. ❝ 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮. 𝐌𝐞. 𝐔𝐬. 𝐀 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 — 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ❞

               ･ﾟ° ☾ ✧ △   𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕. Niko just got hers back a little while ago, and she is not about to let her sister down when she needs to perk up. Much less permit the woman her sibling loves so dearly to deal with such things on her own, sometimes we just need to know someone got out back, girls girl she is after all. ❛ Yeah, yeah, that's fine by me, all the wine, all the Demon hunters you want... let's just settle down and put on pajamas ❜.

Two large bags are placed on the kitchen's counter, ice cream put away in the fridge. ❛ Evy is gonna bring pie, we gonna go wild on food and high on sugar, baby ❜. Tight hug she gives, kissing the top of her head since she is much taller, not her fault Pierce siblings got good genes. Babies gonna be big for someone as petite as she. ❛ So, wanna tell me what's got you down? ❜.

@botrusanimarum · / &· 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎 · *

The petite redhead had gotten up and changed — it was very much needed after spending the entire day in bed under a pile of blankets, roasting like some sad, sweaty rotisserie of depression. She followed the taller blonde, still wrapped in one of her prized throw blankets like a sad little ghost, the fabric dragging behind her. The tight hug was accepted with minimal protest, mostly because Lydia didn’t have the energy to pretend she didn’t need it.

She sat down on the couch and exhaled like it took real effort, glad Evy wasn’t yet around as she didn’t want to upset her pure little soul. ❝ 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐎𝐫, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞... 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐈 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦. ❞

Her fingers picked at the seam of the throw she’d carried with her, eyes fixed on some distant point between the wall and the floor. ❝ 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫. 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫. 𝐘𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈’𝐦 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐬𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. ❞

                          ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ◌ ·𖥸· ◌ ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

               ･ﾟ° ☾ ✧ △   𝑺𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒐𝒐𝒓. It. ❛ A little bird told me you had a bad day... so I kicked him out and decided we should have a girls night, so we brought desserts ❜. Niko had called Evy for back up, then asked if Henry could bake them his signature banana cheese cake, so she could bring it over whilst Niko contributed by bringing ice cream and good ol' red wine. ❛ I can't wake no for an answer so you are in charge of dinner, should we order in some pizza? sushi? your choice, we got all night honey ❜.

@botrusanimarum · / &· 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎 · *

A strawberry blonde head emerged slowly from the bottom of the blanket fort she had dragged together throughout the home earlier, a personal den of doom made up of every throw, comforter and quilt she could find.

❝ 𝐏𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐚, 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐩𝐲𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐊-𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐥? ❞ A pause. ❝ 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞, 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. ❞

She blinked as the corner of her lips twitched in hidden amusement. ❝ 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭. ❞

there's not a single response to be offered,    beyond a roll of his eyes at her dramatics.    he thinks all the women in his life are in cahoots,    plotting ways to antagonise him in some group chat he hasn't laid eyes on.    clearly,    lydia is no different.    unfortunately for her,    he is too used to it,    to even bat an eye at her attempts to annoy him.    (    cora is the only person still capable of ragebaiting him.    )

after such a stressful day,    he's tempted to smoke,    but he'll resist the urge because he needs to keep his guard up.    zachariah no longer cares about sneak attacks,    is emboldened enough to just burst through the door,    if he feels like it.    it is exhausting,    &    infuriating,    but mostly?    it's terrifying.    not for himself,    though.    he's never worried for himself,    just those around him,    everyone he loves.

to distract himself from spiralling,    he defaults to raiding the cupboards    &    fridge for ingredients,    will take a leaf out of his brother's book,    &    cook his stress away.    (    he still prefers smoking,    or shooting things,    but neither are options right now.    )    cutting board is pulled from a not - so - secret compartment under the island,    drawers rummages through for knives to slice up his tomatoes.    (    lydia is still very much tuned out,    &    he's certain that she's enraged by it!    )

the banshee only captures his attention again when she hops down off the counter.    the knife is placed down as he watches her attempt to square up,    with mild curiosity.    he can't help the derisive snort that escapes him as he steps away from the island,    &    straightens to his full height of six foot,    seven inches.    (    nine inches,    if you include his steeltoe boots.    )

@ flamefallen · / &· 𝐍𝐎𝐀𝐇· *

She watched him like you might watch someone trying to outrun a storm — knowing it would catch them eventually, but unwilling to call out the thunder just yet. His eye roll skimmed past her without landing, the familiar armour of a man who’d rather deflect than be seen.

The kitchen was dim except for the thin ribbon of light above the stove, and the air carried the faint metallic tang of the knife with each strike against the board. She could smell the sharp, green bite of tomato stems where he’d torn them loose, mingling with the quieter, less tangible scent of him — something restless, like smoke that had never quite left his clothes. He moved in deliberate, precise lines, each step between the fridge, the counter, the cutting board measured like a man checking corners before turning them.

She didn’t name it. Some things, once named, took shape. Instead, her gaze fell to the tomatoes, bright as coals against the worn wood, their juice blooming red in little sunbursts beneath the knife. ❝ 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐮𝐡? 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲. ❞

Then came the height jab — his shadow stretching long over the tile, steel-toe boots thudding softly as he straightened to full height. She looked up, and her mouth twitched despite herself. ❝ 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐤. 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲. 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 — 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞. ❞ Lydia stuck her tongue out at him. Juvenile, maybe, but the kind of thing guaranteed to erase the smug edge from “chipmunk” without giving him the satisfaction of an actual rebuttal.

When he turned back to his chopping, she stayed a step closer than before, watching the rhythm of the blade. ❝ 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲? ❞

                     why would they do anything?

       when the other stars inching closer, allison's body instantly reacts by taking a couple of steps back, until her shin is pressed against the cold tombstone──her tombstone. " don't── " she warns, word barely a breath, but the threat of her tone clear enough to not need another to follow. her own hands clench into fists, ready for an attack. ready to fight and claw her way out of this situation.

       but it's her words that sill her entirely. they make no sense. she spoke to her like a friend, like a person who knew her deeply, mourned her death and never recovered and yet. . . allison doesn't know her. she's never seen her face before in her life, she doesn't have any feelings towards the woman. . . she doesn't even know her name. but the pain on the other's face is unmistakable. she's seen this type of sorrow and grief on her own. years ago, when her mother died, when she chose to end her life rather than become one of the things the hunted. allison understood her decision, but that grief? it never goes away, and it's clear as day that it never went away for the redhead.

       a scoff is the first thing that parts her lips when silence surrounds them again. " ──please, you know nothing of hell, else you wouldn't be saying that, " and it's with those words that the conviction that she's truly back settles in. the feeling of being able to mock hell was not something she was allowed down there ( a kind of loophole ). " listen. . . i have no idea who you are, or how you think you know me, " because she doesn't. maybe she isn't all there, maybe allison reminds her of someone else, maybe she is just insane enough to make all of it up ( but how does she know my name? ). while still facing the other, she moves around the stone and takes a couple more steps backwards. " i have to find my father, i don't have time for whatever this is. "

@silvrdeath · / &· 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 · *

Lydia’s breath hitched sharp, uneven like she’d just been shoved under cold water. She barely registered the sting in her lungs over the ache in her chest. Allison’s voice, her face, her breathing, it was all still there, but the words… the words were knives she hadn’t been braced for.

Her head shook once, then again, slow and small, as though she could shake the reality out of the air between them. ❝ 𝐍𝐨. 𝐍𝐨, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 — ❞ her voice fractured, splintering around the edges, and she had to swallow hard just to force the next words out. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 — ❞ she broke off, the rest of it swallowed in a breath that trembled all the way down.

Her eyes burned, but she didn’t wipe at them this time. She let the tears fall because fighting them felt impossible. ❝ 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 — ❞ her jaw locked, her throat refusing to let the word died out again. It hurt too much. ❝ 𝐈 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐈’𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞. 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬. ❞

She blinked through the blur, catching the shift in Allison’s stance — the distance she was putting between them, the restless urgency in her voice. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝— ❞ the words came softer, still shaky, but touched with something else now, confusion, maybe even hope. ❝ 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬? 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞? 𝐈𝐬 𝐡𝐞 — 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐨? ❞ her voice caught again, as though she was afraid of the answer, afraid that this sudden thread to the real world might snap.

The fog seemed heavier now, colder, wrapping her like it wanted to pull her down into the ground beneath their feet. Lydia’s fingers curled into fists, not in anger — in desperation. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥? 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 — ❞ she bit back the rest, teeth pressing into her lip until the metallic tang of blood bloomed on her tongue.

Her voice softened then, breaking entirely. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞… 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. ❞

                ･ﾟ° ☾ ༓ △  𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒓. Bulgarian has toiled when it comes to ponderous past, to share the entirety of it would bring about deep sorrow he has scarcely managed to hold at bay.

Aleksandar has been persistent, seeking him out to talk, visiting places where he knows they might run into one another... moving towns had done nothing to keep brother of his away, unremitting to a fault as ever.

He breathes her in, fragrant scent of hers fluttering around him, mossy hues finding cyan of his, words assuaging inner turmoils as she asserts her affections... with such earnestness that heart swells with gratitude, corners of his mouth curving ever so slightly , hand reaching to hold her smaller one for thumb to caressing kindly at the back of it, utter devotion present in each reciprocal touch.

Fingers reach out to brush away a few strands of vermillion hair away from her beautiful face, thumb mindlessly tracing the apple of her cheek, eyes following the movement while thoughts amble at the same time. Luca would do as he must to make her happy, for he holds as truth the sole statement of being undeserving of her.

He waits for denouement, listening attentively to every single word, muscles loosening by the minute, reassurance becoming a much needed respite after suddenness of matters. Once Lydia concludes argument stout arms of his round small of her waist bringing her onto his lap and into a tight embrace.

❛ I love you...and I know I am far from being decent at sharing feelings, not even close when it comes to the worst of them... but for you... I'll try ❜. Out comes the soft whisper, tiredness he did not know he felt weighing down on him as he clings to the petite of her frame, chin pressing on her shoulder. It would be quite a funny sight for anyone to see him in such positions, 6´2" man slouched so completely in order to hold such a small figure against his chest.

Intrusive thought wins momentarily and he chuckles, leaning back for he is self-aware of how burdensome his weight could be upon her. Who would've thought such a strong, intelligent, gorgeous woman would ever marry someone as lacking and flawed as him.

Broad shoulders press onto the couch, bringing her along so it's her weight rests atop of him, possibly a more comfortable position for both. Once settled, young lad takes his time, takes a breath, a mere trice to gather wits and have the most accurate response. ❛ I think I've been holding onto anger as a way to cope, in a way it served me as a fuel to keep on moving forward, otherwise, I would remember the good, all things lost somewhere in time, and the void they've left behind ❜.

Fingers find way along dainty of hers, entwining solely to bring her hand towards his face, lithe kiss pressed to the back of it with uttermost revere. ❛ But you've given me so much... you filled every space, every corner and every crevice me is now so full of you... Lydia, you saved me , and I don't want to give away calmness of our life, not just yet ❜. Luca will give into her, he knows as much, but for now, he wants to keep them safe, enjoy blissful days... an assort of calm before torrential skies come crashing down upon both.

@botrusanimarum · / &· 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐀 · *

She knows she’s said more in the last two minutes than most people get from her in a week, and there’s a part of her that worries she’s pushed too far — not because he can’t handle it, but because it’s so much. But then she sees it. The way his shoulders lower slightly. The way his jaw stops tensing. He just sits there and hears her. Actually hears her. And that’s enough to tell her that she didn’t get it wrong. That she wasn’t too much. That he’s still here. Lydia breathes out through her nose and lets herself exist in the quiet that follows, green eyes fixed on him, her heart making space for the simple reality of being understood. She meant everything she said. Every line, every promise. He’s the only person in the world who gets this version of her — the one who loves without holding back.

So when his body shifts and he reaches for her, arms strong and certain, she lets herself be pulled in. She doesn’t need to think. She just goes, curling into the space he makes for her without resistance, letting her much smaller frame fold into his lap like it was always meant to fit there. Her arms find their place around him, hands brushing gently across the curve of his back. The motion is instinct, not performance — a quiet act of care, one she’s done a hundred times but still means every time. Her touch says what she doesn’t need to speak again: I’m here. I love you. You’re safe. She barely registers the visual of it — how ridiculously small she must look in his lap, tucked into a man who could carry her like nothing, because the scale of it has never mattered. They’ve always been like this: flame to storm, magnet to iron, quiet comfort to aching fury. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 ❞ she says quietly ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞. ❞

He shifts again, and she moves with him without thinking. The couch takes them both. She ends up stretched across his chest, her body half-draped over his, one hand on the center of his shirt where she can feel the beat of his heart. The other he brings to his lips, and she lets him. She doesn’t look away when he kisses it. She feels it more than she expected to. Like something tender. The skin of her hand stays warm long after. She moves her head slightly, nuzzling into the side of his neck, and her voice is barely above a whisper when she says ❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭. ❞ It’s not a big moment. There’s no drama in it. Just two people in a room, making a decision together. ❝ 𝐖𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝. 𝐖𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐖𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. ❞

The petite lets her head rest fully against him, her cheek over his collarbone. His shirt smells like him. Clean. Familiar. Her thumb is still brushing the edge of his chest without really thinking about it. ❝ 𝐈’𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ❞ she says, not because she planned to, but because it’s the only thing she can say now that makes sense. He tells her he’ll go, not now, but someday, and she doesn’t ask for more. She nods, quietly, like someone sealing a deal. ❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞. ❞ Her breath deepens. Her body stays soft against his. ❝ 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ❞ she adds ❝ 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. ❞ She says it plainly. Not to make it sound brave. Just because it’s true.

Lydia lets herself rest against him completely, her fingers still moving, her breath still synced to his. She doesn’t plan to say anything else. But then something shifts in her chest. A warmth she’s been carrying for weeks. Maybe longer. And she knows she has to say it. Even if it’s the wrong time. Even if it’s too soon.

❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 ❞ strawberry blonde says, and she feels her face flush before the words are even fully out. She’s blushing. Actually blushing. She turns into his neck, groaning softly into the fabric of his shirt. ❝ 𝐎𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐝, 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 ❞ she mumbles, almost laughing. Lydia Martin does not blush. Not for anyone. Except apparently — Luca. She peeks up at him and lets out a breath. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐫. 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲. ❞

She watches him carefully, not for his reaction exactly, but to make sure he’s still with her. She needs him to be with her for this part. ❝ 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞. 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ❞ She says it evenly, like it’s been rehearsed in her head. Because it has. ❝ 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐒𝐨𝐨𝐧. ❞ She pauses again, then adds with a quiet smile ❝ 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ‘𝐃𝐚𝐝’ 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬. ❞ A laugh escapes her, short and nervous. ❝ 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐮𝐬, 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐚. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐨. ❞

Not here. Not now. Please, not now.

The shifter's fingers dug into the edge of the sink, knuckles white, trying to anchor herself to the sterile stillness around her. The muffled laughter and clatter of the restaurant beyond the door felt miles away. An unreachable world she could barely glimpse through the fog of rising feral need. A low growl curled in her throat, barely more than a whisper, but it rattled the fragile calm she was fighting so hard to maintain. Her heart hammered in her chest, drumming out a wild rhythm that matched the storm clawing beneath her skin.

Suddenly, footsteps. Soft but deliberate. Shit. Someone was coming. Panic flared cold and sharp in her veins, a fresh wave crashing over her raw nerves. She froze, eyes snapping open, pupils dilating as the wolf inside surged closer to the surface. Sylviane swallowed the scream that threatened to burst free, willing her voice to remain steady, her movements slow and human. "Don’t panic. Stay calm. Control is everything."

The bathroom door creaked open.

"I'm fine... it's just... low blood sugar..."

@redxwail

@viruspuppies · / &· 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐄 · *

The evening had been… easy. A rare thing, and all the rarer for how unremarkable it was. Conversation wove between the women at her table like soft threads, wine staining the edges of her vision with warmth. For a few hours, Lydia let herself believe in the ordinary. The candlelight was flattering, the food good, the noise of the restaurant a gentle backdrop she could almost rest against. It was not happiness, exactly. But it was stillness, and stillness was precious.

Then it shifted. The sensation came as it always did — not like a sound in her ear, but like pressure on the air, a bruise forming somewhere in the marrow. Wrongness. She felt it gather and pull at her, subtle at first, then insistent. Her laughter faded mid-sentence. She excused herself with the same even tone she might use to ask for another drink, and no one at the table noticed the change in her step as she left the glow and chatter behind.

The hallway to the bathrooms was cooler, lined in pale tile that reflected the dim light in a way that felt faintly hollow. She opened the door and found the source. A girl braced against the sink, breath caught in the shallow rhythm of someone fighting themselves. There was a tautness in her posture, a ripple beneath her skin as if something restless paced there. Her voice, when she spoke, was smooth enough on the surface, but Lydia had learned long ago that smoothness was where danger liked to hide. Low blood sugar, the girl claimed. The kind of excuse that relied on you wanting to believe it.

Lydia didn’t step closer. She let her eyes wander instead — to the fire alarm on the wall, to the lines of exit routes she had already marked in her mind. This was not the first time she had found herself standing between someone and the thing inside them, and it would not be the last. ❝ 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐲 𝐢𝐭 ❞ she said, voice steady, almost mild, though her gaze never left the girl’s ❝ 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞. ❞ The offer hung there, a simple thing, but it carried the weight of someone who knew how quickly a situation could turn — and how far she was willing to go to stop it.