The house was silent except for Kaelen’s whispers to the egg. He crouched close, watching the way the silver veins shimmered faintly in the dark. The glow lit his face, softening the shadows under his eyes.

“You won’t leave me,” he murmured, voice thick with longing. “You can’t. Not like her.” His hand lingered against the warmth, and for just a moment, he let himself believe he wasn’t alone.

The floorboard creaked.

Kaelen twisted around and froze. Draven stood in the doorway, bruised, hunched, exhaustion carved into every line of his body. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Draven’s eyes caught the glow.

“What is that?” His tone was sharp, but behind it was a tremor of fear.

Kaelen’s chest tightened. “It’s mine. Don’t tell.” He hugged himself, as if his arms could protect the secret.

Draven’s jaw clenched, his whole body taut like a bowstring. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? That thing—” His voice cracked with fury and something heavier, something scared. “That thing will bring ruin on us both.”

He pushed Kaelen aside, the motion rougher than he meant, and seized the egg. It burned hot against his hands, heavier than it should be, throbbing with an unnatural pulse.

“I’ll smash it.” His voice shook. “Better broken than cursed.”

Kaelen’s scream tore from his throat. “No! Don’t—don’t hurt it!”

Draven lifted the egg high, but pain seared through his palms. It was as if the egg itself rejected him. He gasped, dropping it, and the light flared—silver, alive, breathing.

Kaelen threw himself forward, clutching it tight. His small body curled protectively around it, as if shielding a child.

Draven stood above him, shaking, his hand blistered red. Rage and despair twisted together in his chest until all that was left was raw grief. He raised his hand, instinct, habit, the ghost of their father in his every movement.

Kaelen looked up at him.

Wide eyes. Wet cheeks. The kind of look that said please don’t be like him.

Draven froze. His arm trembled, then fell. He staggered, knees hitting the floor with a hollow thud.

“I’m sorry,” he choked, burying his face in his hands. The tears came fast, unstoppable, clawing out of him with broken apologies. “I’m sorry, Kaelen. I almost—I almost hurt you. I can’t stop… I can’t stop being him.” His whole body shook with the horror of it.

Kaelen pressed into him, wrapping an arm around his brother’s hunched back. His other hand clutched the egg to his chest. His voice was firm despite his tears. “You’re not him. You’ll never be him. Don’t say that. Don’t.”

Something in Draven cracked then, the weight of his guilt spilling out as he held Kaelen back. The two boys clung to each other, shaking, crying, their pain and fear tangled in the same breath. For the first time in weeks, they weren’t alone.

And then—

A sound. A voice, soft and familiar, drifting from downstairs.

“Kaelen? Draven?”

Kaelen stiffened. His breath caught in his throat.

He knew that voice.

“Mother…”

The egg slipped from his grip as he scrambled to his feet. His bare feet slapped against the stairs as he flew down, heart hammering with wild, dizzy hope. His chest felt too small to hold it all—the relief, the longing, the desperate please let it be real this time.

At the bottom of the stairs, the door gaped open. Moonlight pooled across the floor, and there she stood.

Her hair wild, her face pale, her arms open wide.

And her belly, swollen, round with child.

Kaelen froze mid-step, trembling, his whole body screaming to run into her arms but his mind stuttering at the sight.

Behind him, Draven stood rigid at the top of the stairs. His tears still wet on his cheeks, but now his heart felt like stone in his chest. Hope and fury battled in him—hope that she was real, fury that she could dare return after abandoning them.

And suspicion, sharp and cold, cut deeper than either.