The room was warm in that quiet, lived-in way that only came after a long day well spent.
Aiden sat back on the wide sofa, shoulders sinking into the cushions as the last of the evening's tension finally loosened its grip.
The fire across the room crackled softly, painting the walls in slow amber light.
Just peace.
Serica claimed it first.
She slid in from his left without asking, curling against his side like she owned the space—which, judging by her satisfied hum, she absolutely believed she did.
One arm looped around his waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns against his shirt as she rested her head against his chest.
Varra followed more carefully from the right.
She hesitated for half a breath before sitting, cheeks already faintly pink, then leaned in with quiet determination.
Her forehead touched his shoulder, then her cheek, until she finally settled with her head resting against him, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
