Deep in the cold night, the muffled hiss of snow blends into the winter silence, a whispering flutter marking the turn of another fragile page beneath Neva's fingers.
Her lips part, a soft breath leaving her as she marks a verse in the worn Scripture.
Warmth pools beneath the duvet as she draws her knees close, the faint scratch of ink gliding across the waiting page of her notebook.
A faint gust of air feathers the room as the door creaks open, closes with a soft thud, and careful footsteps pad across the floor.
"You're still awake?" Rhett's voice glides along the wooden walls of the ancient cottage—a temporary haven made livable through hurried hands and borrowed time.
"Mm-hmm," Neva replies, though her gaze remains tethered to the notebook, aware of the mattress creaking as the space beside her dips under his weight.
For a long moment, amid the quiet—marked by the steady rhythm of her heart, the soft rise and fall of their son's breathing—Rhett murmurs, low and almost lost to the room, "He must've felt alone… afraid."
She gazes at him through her lashes.
There is a languid ease in the way his head rests on his palm, but his eyes—soft, shadowed—remain fixed on Rhean, asleep between them, cocooned beneath the covers and lost to sound dreams.
He meets her gaze, lantern-light warming the planes of his face, a soft smile tugging at his lips, feathering a balm over her sore heart.
She reaches over, gathering the soft folds of the covers and easing them over him. "It's freezing."
His fingers close over her hand, her heart stuttering at his playful, fevered smile.
"Help warm me," he whispers, pressing soft, lingering kisses to her fingers.
She draws her hand back too quickly, warmth blooming across her cheeks.
"I still have work," she murmurs quietly.
"Tch," he mutters, feigned defeat colouring his tone as he lets his head fall back onto the pillow.
He folds an arm behind his head and turns slightly toward her. "It's nearly three, Angel," he murmurs. "Staying awake this late won't do you any good—especially now."
"I'll be done soon," she replies, eyes never leaving the page as her fingers turn it and continue their careful scrawl.
A soft sigh leaves him. "Our boy takes after you in stubbornness," he says fondly, brushing a finger over their son's tiny nose, a gentle boop following. "I'm worried this one won't be any different."
A small scowl frown pulls at her brow.
"Don't you start blaming me, as if you're any easier."
He arches a brow. "Have you ever actually let your husband win an argument?"
She presses her lips together, a quiet admission rising in her chest—she cannot think of a single time she'd truly let him win.
"None at all?" A teasing grin tugs lightly at his lips.
She twists her mouth to one side, lifting a hand as a yawn escapes, her eyelids growing heavy with the weight of sleep.
"Sleep's betraying you," he says, the mattress creaking beneath him as she stirs. "You won't get anything done without proper rest, Angel."
She gasps, dazed, as the Scripture and notebook vanish from her grasp in one swift motion.
"Give them back—" she swipes at the air, fingers curling around nothing as he hoists the Scripture and notebook high, a mischievous glint flickering beneath his heavy-lidded eyes.
"I said give them back," she hisses, her voice sharp yet hushed, glancing at their son shifting in his sleep between them.
"You'll wake Rhean up," he says with a daring shrug, eyes glinting. "How hard can it be to admit you're tired?"
"I'm not nearly that tired!" she insists, cheeks flushing in frustration as she reaches again.
"I saw you nodding off at dinner," he murmurs, leaning back and holding the books just out of her grasp.
She collapses onto the mattress, a heavy sigh spilling from her lips. "It's the pregnancy!"
"All the more reason not to push yourself too hard," he says, warmth in his gaze. "Rest when you need to, Angel."
Exhaustion drapes over her shoulders as her gaze lingers on the messy covers in her lap. "We don't have time, Rhett."
"Of course we do," he coos, carefully laying the Scripture and notebook on the nightstand before moving closer to her.
She rests her head back against the wall, sighing softly. "We only have until spring—and there are still over fifty thousands believers waiting to be gathered."
"Maybe the angel was wrong." He leans in beside her, tilting his head to catch her gaze. "Maybe he meant twenty instead of seventy—you know, just a slip of tongue?"
She chuckles softly. His lazy grin falters as concern seeps into his gaze, watching her lips quiver, warm tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
His lazy grin falters as concern seeps into his gaze, watching her lips quiver and warm tears slide silently down her cheeks.
"Oh no, Angel," he whispers, fingers brushing her warm, calloused cheeks. "Come here." He enfolds her in his arms, protective, unawavering.
"Shh…" His fingers brush through her curls, lips pressing a soft kiss to her head while she whimpers against his chest.
"We—we still—" she chokes out, hands clutching his shirt.
"I—I don't know h—how—" Her sobs spill over, wetting his shirt, her heart trapped on a road of unrelenting darkness, no flicker of light cutting through the haze within her.
"Hush…" he whispers, pressing her against him. "He will make a way—"
"He did," she cuts in, voice breaking. "It's just… I—I'm too stupid to see it!"
"No," he whispers. "You're not. You're my smart, my beautiful wife… with a heart of gold and the courage of a lioness."
She tilts her chin to his chest, eyes finding his through the haze of tears—warm, dreamy pools a heaven in itself, her home, the mirror of his soul.
He leans in slowly, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his words brushing her lips. "I know you miss the twins. I'll bring them back." He kisses her again, deliberate and sure. "I promise."
She leans her forehead into his. "No," she murmurs. "They're safer with him."
He swallows, voice low. "You don't trust me to protect them?"
"Of course I do," she breathes, her heart breaking.
"Is it because I kept the truth from you?" he asks, easing back gently.
"I told you," he whispers, lips warm on her skin, soft against her tears. "Naya's safe. That toy was harmless. And I've made sure he won't risk anything like that again."
"It's not that," she swallows, turning away.
"They have to be with him. I believe they're the ones who could open his eyes."
He frowns, voice dropping. "You know he's being hunted. And it won't stop until he's captured—or dead."
"You can't catch him," she swallows against the tightness in her throat.
"You can't—" Her hand presses to her chest. "He cannot be caught."
"Why?" he asks, calm, but grim-eyed.
"I just know it!" she snaps, unintentionally harsh. He inhales, hands framing her head, pressing her into his firm, protective chest.
"What if we take a break tomorrow?" he asks,
hand brushing through the curls at her back.
"We can't," she murmurs, pressing into him.
"The Word hasn't spread enough. I failed to plant the faith. I failed the people," she chokes out. "I failed Him."
"You're wrong." He presses a tender kiss to her curls, letting his chin settle on her head. "He understands—you need rest. Everything will be alright."
Sniffling, she asks softly, "Is it really okay?"
Sniffling, she lifts her gaze, voice small. "Is it really okay?"
He chuckles softly, warmth in his voice. "Of course, Angel."
She clutches his collar, tilting her chin to kiss him gently.
"I love you," she whispers.
"I love you more," he replies softly.
He eases her onto the pillows, lips meeting hers with a smile, as her practiced, nimble fingers begin unfastening the buttons of his shirt.
"My Angel, go easy," he murmurs, teasing her lips with a gentle nip, groaning softly as her hand swats his chest.
"Mama..." They both freeze, motionless like snowmen outside the broken window, cracks held together with heavy tape,
pale fog and drifting snow drifting around through the gaps.
"Dada took my crayons…"
A long, quiet sigh of relief drifts from them as their son murmurs in his sleep, rolling over, gentle snores filling the stillness.
Neva and Rhett exchange a soft, breathy laugh—a heaven between four beating hearts,
in the warmth of the cottage that shields them from the winter outside, savoring one of the answered prayers in a world paused against the thrash of nightmares.
His eyes soften as they meet hers, a thumb stroking her cheek. "I can't believe I get to have another of him."
She breathes in his closeness, smiling, and lays his hand over her belly. "Me too."