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“Kitten,” Sylus addresses his wife in the same tone he uses when she’s testing his patience, and he’s at his breaking point.
“What did the boys do now?” she asks patiently, looking up from the book she’s reading. Luke and Kieran were practically raised by Sylus; the boys see him as their dad and Y/N as their mom by extension.
Sylus remains standing rather than joining her, a deliberate choice. The room is dim, lit only by the low amber glow of recessed lights and the distant shimmer of the city beyond reinforced glass. One hand rests against the counter, fingers splayed as if grounding himself, because the truth sits heavy in his chest, sharp enough that if he lets it out too quickly, it will cut them both. Since her pregnancy, his control has been tested in new and unfamiliar ways. Every risk feels magnified, every misstep catastrophic.
“They left the compound,” he says at last. “After lockdown.”
Her hand pauses mid-page from having turned back to her story. She doesn’t look up immediately, but her shoulders tense, instinctively protective as her free hand drifts to the gentle curve of her abdomen, a change so constant now that Sylus measures rooms, exits, and risks against it without conscious thought. “Left… how?” she asks carefully.
“Without clearance. Without an escort. Without informing me.” His voice remains steady, but his jaw tightens, a subtle tell she knows well. “They went into Linkon City.”
That finally draws her gaze to him, concern sharpening into something closer to alarm. “Sylus, it’s nearly midnight.”
“I’m aware.”
“And patrol rotations—”
“Are thinner than I like,” he finishes for her. “Which is why I shut the city-facing exits in the first place.”
She closes the book slowly and sets it aside, the unease settling deeper now. “Then why would they—?”
He reaches for the bag on the counter before she can finish the question, sliding it into view with deliberate care. The logo is unmistakable, the kind burned into memory by longing alone. The scent escapes immediately, rich and warm and achingly familiar, and her breath stutters before she can stop it.
“Oh,” she whispers.
“Yes,” Sylus replies, his tone a careful blend of restraint and resignation.
Her expression fractures, amusement flickering helplessly across her face before dread overtakes it. “That place is closed. You checked.”
“I checked twice,” he says. “I told you it was unavailable tonight.”
“I know,” she murmurs, fingers hovering over the bag like it might vanish if she acknowledges it. “I just—God, I’ve been craving it all day. I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think anything of it,” Sylus interrupts gently, because this part matters. “You mentioned it in passing. You were tired. You were uncomfortable. You were hungry.”
And pregnant, he doesn’t say, because the word alone is enough to make his chest tighten.
Her hand rests on her stomach fully now, palm warm and protective, guilt bleeding into her voice. “They heard me.”
“They heard need,” he corrects. “And they translated it into action.”
The silence stretches, dense and suffocating. She opens the bag despite herself, the smell hitting harder now, immediate and visceral. Her mouth waters traitorously, craving roaring to life with a force that makes her swallow hard.
“They broke in,” she says softly.
“Yes.”
“They could’ve been hurt.”
“They could have died,” Sylus says, his voice finally betraying the strain he’s been suppressing. “And they would have done it gladly, because they believe you are worth that risk.”
Her eyes sting. Tears threaten to spill from the sudden influx of gratitude for their care and fear for their safety. “Sylus…”
“They didn’t just do it for you,” he continues, the words coming slower now, heavier. “They did it for who you’re carrying. For the little girl they’re now calling their sister. They see how carefully you move now. How often I watch the door.”
Her breath trembles as the realization settles fully. This wasn’t recklessness born of boredom. This was devotion sharpened into something dangerous.
“I never wanted them to feel responsible for her or for us,” she whispers.
“They already do,” Sylus replies quietly. “I raised them that way.”
She presses her lips together, blinking hard, emotions tangling painfully in her chest: love, fear, guilt, and the absurd, overwhelming urge to cry because the food smells perfect and her body wants it so badly it almost hurts.
“Where are they?” she asks.
“Three blocks away,” Sylus says. “In the car. Sitting very still. Hoping time will forgive them.”
She lets out a shaky breath that turns into a small, helpless laugh. “You didn’t bring them back.”
“No,” he says. “Because if I do this, it will be punishment. And what they need is understanding sharpened by consequence.”
She looks at Sylus with both humour and disbelief. “You want me to talk to them.”
“They will hear you,” Sylus says. “Especially now.”
His comm unit hums against the counter, vibrating once as if on cue. He slides it toward her without breaking eye contact.
She takes it, steadying herself, one hand on the device and the other instinctively resting over her belly, where the craving, and the reason for all of this, still churns insistently.
“Call Y/N,” Sylus says into the open channel, his voice low and final.
There is a long pause before Luke’s voice comes through, stripped of bravado and far too careful. “Hey, Boss Lady… are you okay?”
She closes her eyes, emotion cresting hard enough that she has to breathe through it before answering. When she speaks, her voice is calm, but threaded with something unmistakably dangerous. Not anger, but disappointment steeped in love.
“Get home,” she says. “Now. And when you walk through that door, you’re going to explain to me why you thought risking your lives was an acceptable response to a craving.”
A beat of silence follows, thick with dread.
“…Yes, ma’am,” Kieran answers quietly.
Sylus watches her as she hands the comm back, his expression unreadable but his gaze soft, reverent even. The world bends around her now, around the life she carries, the gravity she exerts without ever meaning to, and everyone in it, including him, orbits closer than they ever have before.
And somewhere in the city, two boys are driving very carefully home, food cooling in a bag between them, finally beginning to understand just how much weight love can carry.