A few days had passed since the conversation in their bedroom.
Nothing had changed.
And yet everything felt slightly different.
No announcements had been made.
No decisions had been finalized.
But the possibility existed now.
Quietly.
Somewhere in the background.
And apparently, Zarek had no intention of letting anyone forget about it.
That afternoon, Leah found herself sitting across from Clara Grimshaw in a small café they both liked.
It was one of the few places where Leah could relax without worrying about the constant activity of the mansion.
A warm cup of tea sat in front of her.
Clara was halfway through telling a story about something ridiculous that had happened earlier that week.
Leah was listening.
Mostly.
But every now and then, her attention drifted.
And every time it did, Clara noticed.
Eventually, Clara narrowed her eyes.
"You've done that three times."
Leah blinked.
"Done what?"
"That."
Clara pointed at her.
"The smiling."
Leah immediately looked confused.
"I wasn't smiling."
"You absolutely were."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
Leah laughed.
Clara leaned back in her chair.
"Okay. What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
Leah rolled her eyes.
Clara folded her arms.
"I know that face."
"You do not."
"I do."
"No."
"Yes."
Leah sighed.
Unfortunately, Clara really did know her too well.
Clara leaned forward.
"Come on."
Leah stared into her tea.
Then smiled despite herself.
Immediately, Clara pointed.
"There! Again!"
Leah groaned.
"Oh, stop."
"No."
Clara sat up straighter.
"Tell me."
Leah hesitated.
Then finally said:
"It's Zarek."
That immediately got Clara's attention.
"What did he do?"
Leah laughed softly.
"He hasn't stopped talking about having a baby sister."
Clara burst out laughing.
"Oh, he's still doing that?"
"Every day."
"That's amazing."
Leah shook her head.
"He asks constantly."
Clara wiped a tear from her eye.
"Poor Izana."
Leah smiled.
"You should see his face every time."
"I wish I could."
A comfortable silence followed.
Then Leah spoke again before she could stop herself.
"Honestly..."
Clara waited.
Leah looked down at her cup.
"Izana and I have actually been talking about it."
The words slipped out naturally.
Almost casually.
And then Clara froze.
Completely.
Leah immediately realized what she'd said.
Clara blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Slowly set her cup down.
Then:
"...What?"
Leah already regretted opening her mouth.
Clara stared.
"You've been what?"
Leah sighed.
"Talking about it."
Clara looked horrified.
Not because she disliked the idea.
Quite the opposite.
She looked like she was trying very hard not to start screaming.
"Leah."
"What?"
"Do you mean seriously talking about it?"
Leah felt heat rise to her face.
"Maybe."
Clara slapped a hand over her mouth.
"Oh my God."
Leah immediately laughed.
"Don't."
"No."
Clara pointed at her.
"No, absolutely not."
Leah knew that look.
Clara was excited.
Dangerously excited.
"Clara—."
"Zarek is going to lose his mind."
Leah laughed.
"That's exactly what I'm worried about."
Clara shook her head.
"No."
She smiled.
"That child is going to become the most protective big brother in existence."
Leah found herself smiling too.
Because honestly?
Clara was probably right.
Back at the mansion, Dante was having a perfectly normal afternoon.
Which meant he was enjoying approximately six minutes of peace before someone ruined it.
He sat in one of the sitting rooms reviewing reports.
Silence.
Calm.
Productive.
Then Izana walked in.
Dante immediately became suspicious.
Izana only sought him out when he wanted something.
Without looking up from the papers, Dante said:
"What."
Izana sat down across from him.
"We're considering a second child."
Silence.
Dante slowly lowered the report.
Looked at Izana.
Then looked back at the report.
Then back at Izana.
"...Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you'll need to know."
"No."
"Yes."
Dante closed his eyes.
"No."
Izana remained completely calm.
"Yes."
"I don't need to know."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You will."
Dante pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I miss five minutes ago."
Before he could continue arguing—
A familiar voice entered the room.
"Baby sister."
Dante froze.
No.
Not again.
Zarek walked into the room carrying his lion plush.
"Dan-tee."
Dante pointed.
"No."
Zarek blinked.
"What?"
"I know where this conversation is going."
Zarek looked confused.
Dante sighed.
"Please don't."
Zarek walked closer.
Then proudly announced:
"Baby sister."
Dante immediately looked at Izana.
"This is your fault."
Izana looked entirely unbothered.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Absolutely yes."
Zarek climbed onto the sofa.
"Dan-tee know."
Dante pointed at himself.
"I know nothing."
"Baby sister."
"I know less than nothing."
"Baby sister."
"Please stop saying those words."
Zarek looked genuinely concerned.
"Why?"
Dante opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
Then gave up.
Leah chose that exact moment to walk into the room.
She took one look at Dante's expression.
One look at Zarek.
And immediately started laughing.
Dante looked betrayed.
"You think this is funny."
"It is."
"It isn't."
"It absolutely is."
Izana looked at both of them.
Then calmly returned to reading a document.
Leaving Dante to suffer alone.
Later that evening, however, something changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to notice.
Zarek became quieter.
He still played.
Still talked.
Still followed people around.
But every now and then, he would stop.
And think.
Leah noticed first.
Mothers always noticed first.
By bedtime, Izana had noticed too.
The two-year-old seemed unusually thoughtful.
After helping him into his pajamas, Izana carried him upstairs.
The nursery was dimly lit.
Soft.
Peaceful.
Zarek sat on his bed hugging his lion plush.
Quiet.
Izana sat beside him.
Immediately, Zarek looked up.
"Da-da?"
"Yes."
A pause.
Then another.
Zarek fidgeted slightly with the plush.
Something was clearly bothering him.
Izana waited.
Eventually:
"What if baby sister no like me?"
The question caught him off guard.
Completely.
For a moment, Izana simply stared.
Zarek looked down.
"What if she not want me?"
The vulnerability in his voice made something tighten painfully in Izana's chest.
Because suddenly this wasn't about wanting a sibling.
It was about fear.
Fear of not being enough.
Fear of being unwanted.
Izana shifted slightly closer.
"Why would you think that?"
Zarek shrugged.
A tiny movement.
"Maybe."
That single word somehow sounded heartbreaking.
Izana was silent for a moment.
Then he answered.
"She would."
Zarek immediately looked up.
"How know?"
Izana reached over and brushed some hair from his forehead.
His voice remained calm.
Steady.
Certain.
"Because you're Zarek."
Zarek blinked.
Waiting.
Clearly expecting more.
So Izana continued.
"You're kind."
Zarek listened carefully.
"You share."
A pause.
"You care about people."
Zarek hugged the lion slightly tighter.
"And you'd protect her."
The room fell quiet.
Zarek absorbed every word.
Slowly.
Seriously.
Then:
"Really?"
Izana nodded.
"Really."
A small smile appeared.
Tiny.
But genuine.
Zarek looked relieved.
Completely relieved.
Then quietly said:
"I be good big brother."
Izana's expression softened.
More than he realized.
"I know."
Zarek yawned.
A huge sleepy toddler yawn.
His eyes already closing.
Within minutes, he had curled beneath the blanket.
Half asleep.
Still clutching the lion.
Izana leaned down.
Pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
"I know," he repeated quietly.
Zarek was already asleep.
When Izana left the nursery, he found Leah waiting outside.
She leaned against the wall.
Arms folded loosely.
A soft smile on her face.
She had clearly heard part of the conversation.
"He was worried."
"Yes."
Leah looked toward the closed nursery door.
"He really wants this."
Izana followed her gaze.
"Yes."
Leah smiled softly.
"He's already acting like a big brother."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Izana looked back at the door.
The room where their son slept.
The room where he was already making plans for someone who didn't even exist yet.
And quietly, almost thoughtfully, he said:
"He already is."
Leah slipped her hand into his.
And together they stood there for a moment.
Neither moving.
Neither speaking.
Just looking at the nursery door.
And for the first time—
the possibility of another child no longer felt distant.
It felt real.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
But someday.
And somehow, that someday felt closer than it ever had before.