Chapter Text
The Knight Nursery always hummed—soft laughter from children, the thud of tiny shoes, the constant undercurrent of calm chaos that only people who loved their jobs could survive.
Autumn Knight cut through it all like a blade.
She walked briskly down the main corridor, keys clipped to her belt, expression sharp enough that most apprentices instinctively straightened when they saw her coming. Deputy manager or not, Autumn had a presence. Snippy, blunt, impatient—unless you were one of hers. Then she would burn the world down for you and call it a quiet Tuesday.
Marjorie walked beside her, steps smaller, hands clasped in front of her cardigan. She looked like the embodiment of warmth—soft curls escaping her bun, lanyard slightly crooked, eyes always scanning for someone who might need help.
And on Marjorie’s other side was Reece Knight.
“Still allergic to smiling, then?” Reece drawled, bumping his shoulder lightly into Autumn’s. “You know, the children might think you’re a dragon.”
Autumn didn’t even look at him. “They listen, though. Unlike you.”
Reece grinned. “Rude.”
Marjorie sighed fondly, caught between them like she had been a hundred times before. She’d learned long ago that walking with the Knight siblings meant accepting mild verbal warfare as background noise.
“You two are exhausting,” she murmured.
Autumn glanced at her then, something softer flickering across her face. “You love us.”
“I tolerate you,” Marjorie corrected, lips twitching.
They rounded the corner near the staff room. Carly’s laughter burst out from inside, followed by Sorscha’s gentle Irish lilt trying—and failing—to hush her.
“…I’m just saying,” Carly was saying loudly, “if Winter brings in another batch of homemade biscuits, I’m proposing.”
Winter’s voice followed, warm and amused. “I’m flattered, but HR might have thoughts.”
Marjorie smiled despite herself. Her world felt full in moments like this—busy, loud, alive.
Reece leaned closer to Autumn again. “So, are you still sulking about—”
“I am not sulking.”
“You absolutely are.”
Marjorie, half-distracted and overwhelmed by the noise and closeness, instinctively reached down to steady herself—to anchor.
She meant to take Reece’s hand.
Instead, her fingers brushed something softer. Slender. Warm.
Pointy acrylic nails.
Her breath caught.
Marjorie looked down.
Her hand was wrapped around Autumn’s.
For half a second, her brain refused to work.
Then she felt it—Autumn’s fingers tightening, not pulling away. Holding back.
Marjorie’s face went hot, heat flooding her cheeks and down her neck. Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs.
“I—” she started, barely audible.
Autumn stopped walking.
Marjorie looked up.
Autumn was watching her with an expression she’d never seen before—eyes bright, almost glowing, something unguarded and intimate flickering there. Not sharp. Not defensive.
Soft.
Electric.
Reece kept walking, still talking. “—and honestly, if you’d just admit you were wrong—” He stopped and turned back. “Why have you both stopped?”
Marjorie yanked her hand back like she’d been burned.
“I—sorry—wrong person—” she babbled, mortified, staring at the floor.
Reece blinked. “What?”
Autumn cleared her throat, the moment snapping shut like a door. Her usual edge slid back into place, though something lingered in her eyes.
“Nothing,” Autumn said flatly. “Marjorie’s just… clumsy.”
Marjorie shot her a look—half offended, half grateful.
Reece shrugged. “Right. Anyway—”
He continued walking, oblivious.
Marjorie stayed frozen for a second longer, pulse still racing.
Autumn leaned closer, voice low so only Marjorie could hear.
“You don’t have to apologise,” she said quietly.
Marjorie swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know.”
Their eyes met again.
For a heartbeat, the corridor felt too small.
Then Autumn straightened, already pulling away. “Come on. Carly’s probably telling the children our life stories.”
Marjorie nodded, forcing her legs to move.
But as they walked on, her hand still tingled where Autumn’s had been.
And Autumn—sharp, guarded Autumn—kept her fingers curled slightly, as if remembering exactly how Marjorie’s hand had fit into hers.