The world outside Seraphina's window is chaos—bells ringing, people shouting, the moon barely faded from the sky. She should care about the city's problems, but right now, her heart is beating louder than any alarm. Her twin is here, real, breathing, and somewhere down the corridor. There are a thousand things unspoken between them, and every one bites at Seraphina's skin.
Lucian sits cross-legged on the edge of her bed, shirt halfway buttoned, hair a tangled mess from sleep and—let's be honest—her hands. He watches her pace like he's afraid she'll walk right out the window only to see how many angels she can take down on the way.
"You're thinking too loud," he says, teasing. "I can hear all your plans echoing off the walls."
She snorts, but there's heat in her cheeks. "You know how much I hate being surprised," she fires back. "Especially by siblings who were supposed to stay legendary, not literal."
He's quiet for a second. Then: "You're not alone in this. You know that, right?" He slides off the bed—silent menace and comfort in one body—catching her arm. His grip is gentle, but his eyes have that Don't-Even-Try-To-Lie-To-Me shine.
Seraphina lets herself lean into him just for a second—of warmth, of stubborn hope. Her head rests against his chest and for a moment, nothing else matters. No prophecy, no city, no army camped outside the walls. Just the steady thump of his heartbeat and the heat of his skin against her forehead.
Footsteps in the hall jerk her back. It's her twin, tall and restless, brow furrowed. There's a question there—fear, maybe, or regret, or a challenge. They stare at each other in the half-light. Seraphina wants to shout, to hug them, to punch a hole in the wall and scream. She does none of these. Instead, she just says sharply: "If you're going to threaten my kingdom, you can at least have some coffee first."
For a split second, her twin's glare softens. "You always did have the worst coping mechanisms," they whisper—and it makes Seraphina want to laugh and cry at the same time.
Lucian looks between them, a wicked smile tugging at his mouth. "If we're going to survive this day, everyone's getting caffeinated. That's an order."
The room fills with sunlight and awkward, painful hope. It's flawed and tense and nothing is fixed, but for a heartbeat, it almost feels like family—a real one, the kind Seraphina never thought she'd have. Outside, the world is still on fire. But inside, there's the promise that, if they fight for it, they might actually build something worth loving.
And that, for once, is enough.