“Mummy. Mummy, wake up,” Jaxon whispers eagerly, his voice bubbling with the kind of energy only a six-year-old can have so early in the morning.
I blink my eyes open to find his face inches from mine, his hair sticking up in every direction.
Behind him, Ryder groans, burying his face into the pillow. “Too early,” he mutters.
Jaxon giggles without a hint of fear from last night. He wriggles until he’s sprawled half across Ryder’s chest, half across mine. “I’m hungry,” he declares.
I can’t help the laugh that slips out, even though my body still feels heavy from everything we lived through. “Of course you are.”
Ryder turns his face towards us and cracks one eye open, reaching to tickle Jaxon’s side.” You’re always hungry.”
Jaxon squeals and squirms, kicking the blankets down to our feet. “Hey, no tickle fights before breakfast and coffee,” I warn with a laugh.
The three of us lie tangled together for another moment, and something in my chest loosens. After the chaos and blood and fear, this feels almost unreal, like I’m clutching too tightly to a dream I don’t want to wake from.
“Come on,” I say, brushing Jaxon’s hair back from his forehead. “Let’s make breakfast before you waste away from hunger.”
His grin is enough to brighten anyone’s day. “Can I help?”
“Of course.”
We go downstairs together, Jaxon skipping a step ahead, Ryder’s hand in mine. The kitchen feels different in the morning light, it’s warmer, safer somehow. That is until I see the evidence from last night, and a mixture of emotions hits me.
Poppy’s blood-stained jacket is draped over the back of a chair. Callen’s shoes kicked off by the door. Relief washes through me so hard my knees almost give. They’re home.
Ryder notices too, his hand giving mine a light squeeze.
Jaxon climbs up onto a stool, already reaching for the mixing bowl as I pull it from the cupboard. Ryder finds eggs while I measure flour, and soon the three of us are putting breakfast together.
I’m just wiping a smear of batter off Jaxon’s cheek when heavy footsteps creak down the stairs. Remy appears at the bottom, his hair sleep-ruffled, and wearing a simple pair of shorts.
“Smells good,” he says, heading straight for the coffee machine.
“Want some?” I offer, gesturing at the bowl.
“Do you even need to ask?” he laughs.
His gaze flicks to the abandoned jacket and shoes, then back to me. “Callen’s out cold in my bed. Parker’s on patrol, and Poppy is in Jaxon’s bed.”
Something inside me settles to know she’s here, safe and tucked up in bed. I glance at Ryder, then at Jaxon, who is carefully trying to crack another egg without making a mess.
Jaxon hums to himself as he stirs, flour flying all over the counter and his pyjama sleeves. Ryder keeps a steady hand on the bowl, letting him do most of the work while sneaking looks at me like he’s memorising the moment. Remy leans back against the counter, hands wrapped around his coffee cup. His eyes are shadowed, but there’s a gentleness there when he glances at Jaxon. It’s almost like nothing happened last night, but it did.
“How’s Callen really doing?” I ask.
Remy lets out a breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “He needs rest. He gave so much blood that I’m surprised he made it back, to be honest. He was like a zombie when he walked in.’
My stomach drops. “He should have slept there. Why would he come back like that?”
“He’ll be fine,” Remy shrugs. “You know Callen, he wouldn’t have settled there, not when he knew how worried you’d be if you woke up and they weren’t back. But he needs sleep now. I told him not to get up until his body says so.”
I nod slowly, biting my lip. Gratitude and guilt twist together in my chest. I can still see the blood on Poppy’s hands, the shock in her eyes when she realised what saving Leo meant. I can see the desperation in Callen’s eyes, his pain at watching his friend’s life slipping away right in front of him.
Jaxon tips the bowl toward me proudly. “See, Mum? No shells this time.”
I force a grin and kiss the top of his head. “Perfect.”
We pour the batter, and the smell of pancakes fills the kitchen until it almost feels normal again. For a little while, everything feels okay; it feels normal. Jaxon insists on getting the first one off the pan, Ryder pretends to argue, Remy drinks his coffee like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
Then Ryder c***s his head, with the faraway look that means he’s listening to something i can’t hear. “Poppy’s awake,” he says after a second, glancing at me.
My pulse skips. I move to the counter, automatically pouring another cup of coffee, trying to steady my hands. The thought of facing her after everything, after Leo, after the blood, after the bombshell we dropped on her, sets my nerves on edge. I don’t know what I’ll find when I open that door.
I balance two cups carefully in my hands and, with a deep breath, I turn and head for the stairs. I don’t know my sister’s state of mind, but whatever state she is in, she’s not alone. I made her a promise the day we lost our parents, and I intend to keep it. I’m going to do everything to make this right for her.
**Paige’s POV **
When I get to Jaxon’s bedroom door, I just stand there for a second, preparing myself. I’m not sure what version of my sister I’m about to walk into. Will she be curled up in a ball and shaking, angry, or pretending she’s fine?
“Poppy, can I come in?” I say softly to the door.
“Yeah,” she responds immediately. That’s a good sign at least.
I nudge the door open with my shoulder.
Poppy is perched on the edge of Jaxon’s bed. She’s clean and wearing clothes I don’t recognise; she must’ve been given some at the healer’s cabin. She looks both too young and far too grown up at the same time. Her eyes meet mine, wide and tired, but calm.
“Hey,” I smile gently before nudging the door shut behind me. “I brought coffee.”
Her gaze drops to the cups in my hands, and a flicker of gratitude flashes over her face. She takes one of the cups carefully, both hands wrapped around it like she needs the warmth.
“Thanks,” she breathes.
I sit beside her and the silence stretches for a moment, filled only by the faint sounds of laughter drifting up from the kitchen.
Poppy sips the coffee, then exhales. “What a night,” she half laughs.
“Yeah,” I smile, unsure what else to say.
“When I woke up this morning, before I opened my eyes, I thought it was all some wild dream, but then I realised the bed I was in was far too comfortable to be mine.”
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