The first day with Aria was the longest day of Nyx’s life. She held her daughter almost constantly, afraid that putting her down would somehow jinx whatever miracle had allowed her to be born breathing. The baby nursed weakly at first, her tiny mouth struggling to latch onto Nyx’s breast, but Elara helped guide them both through it and eventually Aria figured it out. When she did latch properly, she fed with surprising determination for someone so small, her little fists clenching and unclenching against Nyx’s skin. “She’s doing well,” Elara said after examining the baby thoroughly that first afternoon. “Breathing is steady, heart rate is good, color is healthy. Everything looks exactly as it should for a full-term baby.” “Finally,” Nyx said, and felt Theron’s hand tighten on her shoulder. Through the bond she felt his relief matching her own, felt him wanting to believe that finally meant they were safe, that the curse had been defeated. But Nyx couldn’t quite let herself believe
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