They settled both babies in the master bedroom.

Josh lay on his side of the large bed, breathing in that deep, boneless way that meant genuine sleep.

He had fussed earlier in the evening, restless in the way he sometimes was, but the moment Justina was placed beside him, something in him had simply released. He had not made another sound since.

Amara and Julian stood at the foot of the bed and looked at them. They stood there for a long time.

Two babies. Both of them. In the same room, in the same bed, breathing in the same rhythm as though they had arranged it between themselves.

"Justina Amara," Amara said softly, almost without meaning to. She was not speaking to anyone. She was simply trying the words out, hearing how they sounded now that Justina was here to make them real.

"She is going to own every room she walks into," Julian said quietly.

Amara smiled without looking away from the babies.

"You need to call mother," Amara said after a moment. "Before she sees the news in the morning, I have to spend an hour explaining why I didn’t tell her first."

"Will call her tomorrow," Julian said.

"Tomorrow is already here," he glanced at the window. She was right, the sky beyond the curtain had that particular darkness that came just before it stopped being night. "First thing," he said.

"First thing," she agreed.

They did not sleep. Not really. They moved to the bed and lay on either side of the babies and watched the ceiling and watched the children and somewhere in between forgot to close their eyes.

There had been nights in the past weeks when sleep had refused to come for the worst reasons because the mind would not stop, because the absence of Justina sat in the room like a weight, because morning felt like another day of the same unanswered question.

Tonight was different. Tonight, they could not sleep because they were too full of something good, and that was a feeling neither of them was willing to waste by being unconscious.

—

Marcus parked outside Yvette’s building and walked her up without ceremony.

She had talked most of the drive. He had let her. It was easier than engaging and considerably less exhausting than arguing, and Marcus had learned years ago that people who needed to be heard would eventually hear themselves if you simply waited long enough.

Inside the apartment, he picked up her phone from his pocket, turned away from her briefly, and typed a short message to Kalian. Already leaving. Don’t wait up. Simple. Enough to keep things quiet until morning.

"Who are you texting?" Yvette came up behind him, hand outstretched. "Give me my phone. Why are you going through my phone?"

Marcus set it down on the counter out of her reach. "Kalian knows you have left the country. That is all he needs to know tonight."

"That is my private property."

"You should consider yourself fortunate," Marcus said, turning to face her with the calm of a man who had made peace with this conversation hours ago.

"Amara gave you just two slaps and called the police on you, and also made you come home tonight so you could be with your other two daughters, that’s gracious. If Julian had been the one to deal with you tonight, we would not be standing here having this conversation. There would be very little left to have it with."

Yvette stared at him. Then something shifted in her expression, a different kind of confidence, slower and more deliberate, the kind that had nothing to do with the argument they were currently having.

She looked at him the way she had probably looked at men her entire life when other methods stopped working.

"She didn’t let me come home. I’m home because the police couldn’t prove anything, I really thought she was my missing baby, and for the record, I have known Julian since long before you ever came into the picture," she said. "He acts unbothered. He likes to pretend." She tilted her head slightly. "But this body? No man has ever been able to pretend for very long."

Marcus looked at her.

He was a professional. He reminded himself of this.

He let his gaze move across the room and back to a point somewhere above her left shoulder, and cleared his throat once.

She was not lying, he was not blind, and he was not made of stone, but that was the beginning and the end of it.

"Keep telling yourself that," he said evenly.

Yvette smiled as though she had scored a point. He did not give her the satisfaction of correcting her.

"I am here because it is my job since the police couldn’t arrest you," Marcus continued, his tone returning to its usual flat professionalism.

"When this is resolved, you walk away with your two children and whatever life you had before tonight. That is more than most people get after what you pulled." He moved toward the hallway.

"In the meantime, the cables are disconnected. No calls. No messages. Nothing goes in or out tonight."

Yvette’s smile disappeared. "You cannot be serious."

"Go to bed."

"I will deal with every single one of you," she said, her voice dropping into something quieter and more deliberate as she turned toward her bedroom. "I promise you that. All of you."

Marcus said nothing. He watched her door close, then settled into the chair at the end of the hallway, his back to the wall, his eyes on the exit.

He had been promised far worse outcomes by people he once considered better than himself. With a heavy sigh, he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, the chill of the night seeping into his skin.

His legs stretched out in front of him, each muscle taut as he settled into a restless position on the cold ground. He stared up at the stars scattered across the dark sky, lost in thought as he waited for the dawn to break, hoping it would bring with it a sense of clarity or perhaps a glimmer of hope.

The night felt endless, and with each passing minute, he braced himself for whatever morning might bring.