CHAPTER 8 – Shadows at the Door

(Afnan’s POV)

The fire has burned down to embers.

The twins are asleep again, small bodies curled against each other, the rhythm of their breathing the only calm sound in this entire house.

I’m not sure when I started reading the same line of the book over and over. The words keep slipping away from me and my thoughts always find their way back to him.

Delph.

His voice still echoes from the Council chamber; the way it shook the air, the way it silenced even Serena. I’d seen him angry before, but not like that.

There was something different in it, something that felt almost like… protection.

I close the book and stare into the fire.

It’s foolish to start thinking in maybes again. I came here for safety, not for hope.

A soft knock breaks the quiet.

Once. Twice. Then the handle turns.

Every muscle in my body tenses.

No one comes here without permission.

The door opens, and there he is, tray in hand, the faint smell of pine and smoke following him like a shadow. For a heartbeat I think I might still be dreaming; the sight of him in the doorway feels too strange, too ordinary, for a man who once broke the world beneath my feet.

“I brought this,” he says simply. “Milk. For them.”

My mouth feels dry. “You could have sent someone.”

“I did,” he answers, stepping inside. “But I changed my mind.”

The door shuts behind him. The sound is soft, but it traps the air between us.

He crosses the room and sets the tray down beside the fire. The light catches the edges of his face strong, tired, beautiful in the way storms are beautiful when you stop running from them.

“They’re asleep,” I whisper.

“I can see that.”

He kneels, studying the twins for a moment. Something in his expression softens, the hard lines around his mouth easing. The sight of it stirs something in my chest that I don’t want to name.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t move. “Maybe not.”

The silence stretches until I have to look away. “The Council won’t like it if they find out you’re sneaking into the east wing at midnight.”

“Let them talk,” he says. “They’ve been talking for years.”

There’s a faint tremor in his voice, the kind that only shows when truth slips past control.

He glances at the fire. “You should sleep. Tomorrow will be worse.”

“I know.”

His eyes lift to mine. “You’re not afraid?”

“I’ve already lost everything once,” I say. “Fear doesn’t hold the same shape anymore.”

Something flickers behind his gaze, regret, admiration, pain. He reaches out as if to touch the edge of my cloak, then stops, his hand hovering in the air.

“I didn’t know,” he says softly. “About them.”

“I didn’t plan to tell you,” I replied.

He nods slowly. “I believe you.”

We sat there for a long time, saying nothing. The fire crackles, the wind moves outside, and for a moment the world feels small and strange and almost peaceful.

Then his voice breaks the silence again, low and rough. “The Council will push for the Blood Oath Test.”

“I guessed as much.”

“I won’t let them.”

I laugh quietly. “And what will you do, Alpha? Fight your elders for an omega and her children?”

He looks at me, really looks,  and I see the answer already written there.

“I’ve fought for less,” he says.

The words hang between us like a promise neither of us is ready to touch.

He stands slowly, glancing once more at the twins before heading for the door.

When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “Lock the door after I leave.”

“Why?”

“Because not everyone in this house takes orders from me anymore.”

And then he’s gone.

The latch clicks shut.

I sit in the glow of the fire, heart beating too fast, wondering what kind of man sneaks into a cage to make sure the ones inside are still safe.