He drew back enough to see her face. Shame had been a weight strapped to his chest for so long he’d learned to breathe shallow around it. Now, strange, terrifying, miraculous, he couldn’t find it. In its place was ache, yes, and the fatigue of a battle fought with every piece of himself. But there was also space. Light where the rot had been.
Bás paused at the edge of the lawn. He didn’t intrude. He just lifted two fingers in a salute for a soldier who’d chosen his ground and held it.
Jonas returned it, then tucked Clara under his arm and walked her back toward the house, each step a small, ordinary thing that felt like a rebirth.
Epilogue
TWO YEARS LATER
Bás and Valentina’shouse was never quiet, but tonight it was chaos of the best kind. The smell of roasted lamb and garlic potatoes drifted through the farmhouse, chased by the sounds of children shrieking as Monty and Scout endured having ribbons tied to their collars by giggling toddlers.
“Oi, Sebastian,” Bishop shouted across the long wooden table as he opened a bottle of wine. “Your daughter just tried to feed the dog a Lego brick.”
Sebastian looked up from carving meat, calm as ever. “Better than the time Snow froze my car keys.”
Snow swatted him, balancing their youngest daughter on her hip. “For the hundredth time, it was the fridge.”
Laughter rippled. Titan nearly choked on his ale, Maya patting his back as she soothed their youngest, Jamal, while their oldest, Tarique, made a daring climb onto the bench.
At the far end, Lotus leaned into Damon’s shoulder as he cut their son’s food. “Your son’s going feral again,” she called, smirking at Titan’s struggle.
“Just like his dad,” Damon quipped. Titan flipped him off, which only made Lotus laugh harder.
Reaper’s booming voice told a story so exaggerated even Lucia rolled her eyes. “You didn’t parachute into a volcano,” she muttered, though her smile gave her away.
It still shocked Clara that she was at the table with actual royalty. Princess Lucía didn’t act like the refined, untouchable nobility she saw on her TV screen or in the papers. Here she was just Reaper’s wife and one of the gang, and Clara loved that.
“Details,” Reaper said with a wink, earning groans around the table.
Duchess and Gideon shared a quiet chuckle over wine, their elegance not dimmed by the mess, chaos with their own children made this natural to them.
Charlie and Bishop were bickering about Yorkshire puddings, Charlie loudly insisting hers were fluffier while Bishop argued his had more “bounce.”
Bein and Aoife were refereeing their son and Hurricane’s youngest over the last roast potato. Hurricane, towering and laidback, leaned into Peyton and muttered, “This is why we should’ve grabbed extra trays.” Peyton only smiled, her hand resting on his arm, a silent anchor.
And right in the middle of it all, Clara sat surrounded by the noise, her heart fuller than it had ever been. Watchdog had one arm draped over her chair, fingers tracing her shoulder with absent protectiveness.
The laptop in front of her made her the centre of attention for once.
“Not fair,” Titan grumbled. “Why does she get to test it?”
“Because she actually listens,” Jonas said straight-faced, though his mouth twitched.
“Rubbish,” Bishop shot back. “It’s because you’re soft on her.”
“Finally admits it,” Hurricane rumbled, grinning.
The table erupted. Clara blushed as she clicked through the final level of the game Jonas had built.
“Come on, Clara!” Snow urged. “Beat it so we can have pudding!”
“I’m trying!” Clara laughed, her fingers flying.
The screen froze. Music faded. Words appeared, letter by letter.
Thank you for being my player two. For choosing me. For saving me when I didn’t know how to save myself. I love you, Clara Sutton. Will you marry me?
Silence fell. Clara’s breath caught, her hand covering her mouth. Slowly, she turned. Jonas was already kneeling, a velvet box in his hand. Inside gleamed a ring that glimmered in the firelight.
