Steven’s POV
The hilltop stayed behind us slowly.
First the lanterns.
Then the music.
Then the flower arch beneath the tree.
Henry had already begun clearing the wedding table before we left, quiet and careful as ever, as if weddings, magical rites, and unexpected Shade advancements were simply another category of evening service. Fredrick had given us one final look that said there would be questions later, but not tonight. Dylan had offered me a small nod that somehow felt steadier than a speech. Dipsi had vanished in violet light after telling Aqua not to let me “look too smug too early,” which felt unfair because I was not smug.
I was barely upright.
Fang followed us home without speaking.
That was how I knew he was giving us room.
The house felt different when we came back to it.
Not because anything had changed.
The kitchen still had one of Aqua’s mugs near the sink. Fang’s perch near the back French doors still sat in its usual place like he paid rent. The folded towel Aqua had left on the counter that morning was still there. A few seed packets rested near the window, because apparently even on her wedding day, Aqua had found time to think about flowers that were not part of the ceremony.
Everything was the same.
I was the one who wasn’t.
I stepped inside behind her, still in the black tux Dylan had given me, one hand resting lightly against the door after I shut it. My ring caught the light when I moved, plain and silver against my finger.
Married.
The word hit me again.
I looked at Aqua.
She stood a few steps ahead of me, still in her dress, the veil loosened now but glowing faintly with whatever magic Dipsi had brushed into it. The tiara sat in her hair like it belonged there. Silver curves. Aquamarine stones. Too beautiful to be casual. Too royal to pretend she was anything ordinary.
But she had taken off her shoes somewhere between the hill and the house, so now she stood barefoot in our entryway with her bouquet in one hand and the bottom of her dress gathered carefully in the other.
That somehow got to me more than the tiara.
Princess and barefoot.
My wife.
Aqua turned back toward me, and her smile was soft enough to make my chest hurt.
“We are home,” she said.
Home.
Not the apartment where I first brought her after the storm.
Not my mother’s house.
Not Atlantis.
Not Worth manor.
Our house.
I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding.
“Yeah,” I said. “We are.”
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Aqua looked down at her hand.
Both rings sat there now. The aquamarine engagement ring and the delicate wedding band beside it. She touched them gently with her thumb, like she still needed to make sure they were real.
I knew the feeling.
“I can’t believe we’re married,” I said.
Her smile grew.
“Neither can I.”
“Mrs. Salvatore.”
Her cheeks warmed instantly.
That was unfairly satisfying.
“That sounds strange,” she said.
“Good strange?”
She looked at the rings again.
“Very good strange.”
I stepped closer, unable to stop myself.
“Mrs. Aqua Salvatore.”
She laughed softly.
“I do not think Fredrick will ever call me that.”
“No. Definitely not.”
“He will probably continue saying Aqua Waters.”
“Or Ms. Aqua in the most formal voice possible, as he has been doing lately.”
“Maybe.”
“Or he’ll just pause before Salvatore like it physically pains him.”
Aqua covered her mouth, laughing.
I grinned.
“I’m telling you, the man is going to avoid my last name like it’s contagious.”
“He married us.” I paused, correcting myself. “I mean, he officiated the wedding.”
Aqua tilted her head.
She was probably thinking back to the way Dylan had corrected me before on the matter.
“Officiated us,” she said, eyes bright with amusement. “Yes.”
Her laugh softened into a smile that made my heart do something stupid and warm.
I reached for her free hand.
The second my fingers wrapped around hers, the joking feeling in me went quieter.
Not gone.
Just lower.
More aware.
Her wedding band touched mine.
A tiny sound escaped me before I could stop it.
Aqua heard it.
Because Aqua always heard the things I tried hardest to hide.
Her eyes lifted to mine.
“Steven?”
I rubbed my thumb over her knuckles.
“I’m just…” I swallowed. “You’re my wife.”
Her face softened completely.
“Yes.”
That one word nearly took my knees out.
I had been nervous all day.
Nervous before she came up the hill.
Nervous during the vows.
Nervous when Fredrick said husband and wife like those words belonged to us now.
But this felt different.
The ceremony was over. The table on the hill had been cleared. Fredrick had returned to the manor. Dylan had gone with him after giving me that quiet nod. Dipsi had disappeared, probably to become someone else’s problem. Fang had curled near the back French doors, silent enough that I knew he was still close, still watchful, but not listening in the way he usually did.
Now it was just us.
Married.
In our house.
With the whole evening ahead of us and no one waiting to tell me what to do next.
Which, honestly, was terrifying in a completely different way.
Aqua set the bouquet carefully on the table.
I watched her fingers brush over the flowers before she turned back to me.
“So,” I said.
She looked at me.
“So?”
I suddenly forgot how to be normal.
Which was impressive, considering I had already made vows in front of Fredrick Worth and survived.
I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Aren’t we supposed to… you know.”
Aqua blinked.
Then her cheeks turned pink.
“You mean…”
“Consummate the marriage,” I said, because apparently my mouth had chosen the worst possible phrasing.
Aqua looked down, then back up at me through her lashes.
“Technically,” she said softly, “we have already done that.”
“Right. Technically.”
My heart beat harder.
“But not as husband and wife.”
Her eyes warmed.
“No,” she said. “Not as husband and wife.”
The room seemed to grow quieter.
Not empty.
Full.
The kind of full that happened right before a kiss, when both people already knew it was coming and neither one moved away.
I stepped closer.
Aqua did not move back.
Her dress brushed against my shoes. The shimmer in her veil caught the lamplight. The tiara turned her into something untouchable and impossible, but her hand was still in mine, warm and real.
I lifted that hand and kissed just below her rings.
Aqua’s breath caught.
I felt it more than heard it.
Something in me answered.
Not anger.
Not Incenda.
Not the part of me that burned too hot and wanted to turn fear into heat.
This was lower.
Warmer.
Older in a different way.
My Amoris stirred beneath my ribs, not like a command, but like hunger recognizing love and not knowing yet whether to kneel or reach.
For once, I did not flinch from it.
I looked up at her.
“My wife,” I whispered.
Aqua’s fingers tightened around mine.
The words did something to her.
I saw it.
The little shiver that moved through her shoulders. The way her lips parted. The way her eyes softened and heated at the same time.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
My chest tightened.
“My wife.”
She stepped into me then.
Not quickly.
Not shyly.
Like she had decided the space between us was unnecessary and had every right to remove it.
My hand found her waist.
Carefully at first.
Then less carefully when she leaned into me.
That was the strange thing about tonight.
I did not feel reckless.
That was what startled me most.
Before, wanting her had sometimes felt too close to the edge of something I did not understand. My Amoris could stir too quickly, reach too sharply, make me afraid that desire and hunger were only two different names for the same danger.
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But right now, it did not feel like something else had taken hold of my hands and taught them where to go.
It felt like mine.
My want.
My choice.
My love.
The Amoris beneath my ribs was awake, but it was not dragging me forward. It was waiting with me, warm and powerful and almost unbearably close to the surface.
For once, I did not feel like I was trying to keep part of myself locked outside the room.
I felt like I could bring all of me to her.
Carefully.
Willingly.
As her husband.
I felt like me.
Just less afraid.
Less trapped in my own head.
Less worried that wanting her too much meant I would become something I hated.
Aqua was my wife.
I was her husband.
And the way she looked at me made the nervous part of me finally go quiet.
I kissed her.
She rose into it, one hand curling into my jacket, the other sliding up toward my shoulder. The kiss was slow at first, still carrying the sweetness of the hill, the vows, the way she had looked at me when she said she chose me.
Then it warmed.
Deepened.
Her fingers tightened in my jacket, and my Amoris pulled closer to the surface.
Not violent.
Not cruel.
Hungry.
Loved.
Those two things should not have felt so close together.
My eyes prickled with heat.
Aqua noticed before I did.
She pulled back just enough to look at me.
Her thumb brushed beneath my eye.
“They are glowing,” she whispered.
My body went still.
“Red?”
She nodded.
I almost looked away.
She did not let me.
Her hand stayed on my cheek, warm and steady.
“Do they frighten you?” I asked.
Aqua looked at me for a long second.
“Not tonight.”
Tonight.
That word mattered.
Because we both knew there had been times when red eyes meant anger. Danger. Losing control. Something in me getting too close to the edge.
But tonight she looked at them like they belonged to me.
Not to fear.
Not to Salizar.
Me.
That undid something in my chest.
“I don’t feel angry,” I said.
“I know.”
“I don’t feel…” I swallowed. “Wrong.”
Her eyes softened.
“You are not wrong.”
I closed my eyes for one second, leaning into her touch.
Then her thumb brushed along my lower lip, and every thought I had scattered.
I kissed her again.
This time, I let myself be bolder.
Not rough.
Not careless.
Just sure.
My hand moved along her waist, feeling the delicate fabric of the dress beneath my palm. Aqua made a small sound against my mouth, and I remembered it. Stored it. Let it guide me instead of doubting every breath.
I knew her better now.
Not perfectly.
Never completely.
But enough to know when she softened. When she wanted me closer. When she needed slower. When her hands were asking even before her mouth did.
For once, I trusted that.
For once, I trusted myself.
Something instinctive moved through me before I could stop it.
A quick brush of my tongue against her lower lip.
Sharper than human.
Too Salvatore.
I froze immediately.
It had happened before.
The first time, I had frozen so hard Aqua had touched my face and whispered my name until I came back to myself. Later, I had noticed the way her breath changed when I stopped fighting it so quickly.
Not fear.
Want.
That had terrified me in a completely different way.
Aqua felt me stop.
Her eyes opened.
“Steven?”
“I didn’t mean to,” I breathed.
She knew what I meant without me explaining.
That was the problem with being loved by someone who knew you too well.
Her hand slid to my cheek again.
“Do not apologize for being you.”
The words hit harder than they probably should have.
I let out a shaky breath.
“I was about to.”
“I know.”
Because she did.
She always seemed to know when I was about to apologize for existing too loudly.
I laughed once, quiet and uneven.
Then I rested my forehead against hers.
“You’re making it very hard to be embarrassed.”
“Good.”
“That was supposed to be my line.”
Aqua smiled, and there was something playful in it now.
“Then say something else.”
I looked at her.
At the tiara.
At the veil.
At the rings.
At the beautiful girl who had walked up a hill toward me and chosen me in front of everyone who mattered.
Something in me steadied.
I slipped my arms around her more fully and drew her against me.
“I want you,” I said quietly.
Her breath changed.
I kept my eyes on hers.
“Not for any other reason,” I said, voice lowering. “But because you are Aqua. Because you are my wife. Because I love you.”
Her eyes shone.
Not with power.
Not yet.
With feeling.
With trust.
With the same choice she had carried up the hill toward me.
“I want you too,” she whispered.
That was all it took.
The rest of the house fell away.
The kitchen.
The door.
The flowers on the table.
Fang somewhere nearby, giving us quiet in the only way he knew how.
I lifted Aqua carefully, and she gave a soft surprised laugh against my mouth before wrapping her arms around me. The sound stayed with me as I carried her down the hall, her dress gathered in my hands and her veil trailing behind us like moonlit water.
The bedroom was dim by the time we reached it.
Warm gold from the lamp.
Soft shadows.
White fabric.
Blue shimmer.
Aqua standing in front of me, hands trembling only a little as I helped with the careful fastenings of her dress. I moved slowly, because the dress deserved care, and because she deserved more.
When the tiara came off, I set it gently on the dresser.
When the veil followed, Aqua watched me like that mattered.
Maybe it did.
Maybe taking off each beautiful piece was its own kind of vow.
I did not rush.
Neither did she.
That was what made it different from before.
We knew enough now to want slowly.
Her dress loosened beneath my hands, layer by careful layer, until the girl who had stood before Worthington’s rite as my bride stood before me as only Aqua.
Not princess.
Not symbol.
Not someone dressed for the eyes of anyone else.
Mine to love because she had chosen to be.
The wedding clothes ended up folded and draped over the armchair near the window, white lace and black fabric resting together in the dim gold light. Her veil shimmered faintly over the side, Dipsi’s borrowed magic still clinging to the edges like moonlight reluctant to leave.
On the bed, Aqua lay beneath me, her hair loose across the pillow, her rings catching the lamplight when her hands slid over my shoulders.
For a moment, I could only look at her.
She was beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.
Not distant.
Not untouchable.
Not royal in the cold, lonely way Atlantis had tried to make her.
Mine to love because she had chosen to be.
My wife.
The thought moved through me with so much force that my Amoris answered beneath my ribs.
Warmth gathered around us.
Aqua’s breath caught.
I froze for half a second, but she shook her head before I could pull away.
“Steven,” she whispered.
Not warning.
Not fear.
Invitation.
Her hands drew me closer, and I kissed her again, deeper this time, letting my love pour into the kiss instead of hiding behind restraint.
I kissed her like vows were still sitting on my tongue.
Like every promise I had made beneath the arch had found a new way to be spoken.
Her lips.
Her throat.
The curve of her shoulder.
Every place I kissed felt like another way of saying wife, wife, wife.
Aqua softened beneath me, not weak, not passive, but open in a way that made my whole body tremble. She let herself be loved. Let herself be held. Let herself receive every ounce of attention I had been too nervous, too guilty, or too afraid to give without apology before.
And I did not mind giving it.
I wanted to.
I wanted to be the one who made her feel cherished.
Wanted to be the one who made her forget every room where she had been treated like duty instead of a person.
Wanted to love her body with the same reverence I felt for her heart.
A faint blue glow touched her eyes.
I stilled.
Aqua looked up at me, breathless, cheeks flushed, blue light shimmering softly beneath her lashes.
“Your eyes,” I whispered.
Her fingers tightened against my back.
“My Currena,” she said, voice barely above a breath.
It was close to the surface.
Not defensive.
Not frightened.
Answering.
The sight of it nearly broke me.
My red glow reflected faintly in her blue, fire and water staring back at each other from the bodies of two people who had promised not to turn away.
“You are beautiful,” I said.
Her eyes softened.
“You already said that.”
“Not enough.”
Aqua’s smile trembled.
Then she pulled me down to her again.
The night unfolded in warmth and breath and whispered names, in rings brushing skin, in laughter that broke softly beneath kisses, in her hands guiding mine when I grew too careful and mine slowing when her breath asked me to.
My Amoris rose close enough to be felt, but not as something clawing out of me.
It felt like love with teeth.
Like hunger kneeling.
Like the part of me I had feared most was waiting to see whether it could be allowed into the room without destroying it.
I watched Aqua’s face.
Listened for fear.
Waited for hesitation.
She gave me neither.
When the instinct came again, sharper and stranger than human, I did not shove it down immediately. I held myself still enough to stay present, careful enough to stay gentle, and let her decide whether she wanted that part of me near her.
She pulled me closer.
So I stayed.
Her love aura rose around me, warm and bright enough to make my core ache. I felt the pull.
The old hunger.
The Salvatore want.
My first instinct was to lock down, to shove it back before it could touch her.
But Aqua’s hands tightened on me.
“Steven,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”
So I did.
I thought I was holding back.
Maybe I was.
Maybe I was not.
Because when my Amoris reached for her, her Currena did not recoil. It rose. It circled. It answered.
Water around love.
Love through water.
Not fighting.
Not drowning.
Not consuming.
Turning.
The bond between us warmed until I could not tell whether the heat belonged to my body, my core, or the vow still echoing under my skin. Aqua’s aura brushed mine, not fading, not thinning, but brightening in response. My Amoris moved through the love around us, and something in me panicked at the pleasure of it.
Taking.
That was what my fear called it.
Taking.
But then Aqua gasped my name and held me closer, and her Currena moved through me like a tide finding a shore it wanted to touch again. Something flowed back.
Not from me alone.
Not from her alone.
Between.
A circle.
A current.
A vow becoming motion.
I did not understand it then.
Not fully.
All I knew was that Aqua did not weaken beneath me.
She brightened.
And I did not feel like I was the only one receiving something from the moment.
Something passed between us that did not belong only to me or only to her. It moved in the space where our bodies, our vows, and our cores met, too intimate to name and too beautiful to fear while she was holding me like that.
For once, the part of me I feared most did not feel like a monster.
It felt like a man loving his wife.
---
Much later, Aqua slept curled against me, one hand resting over my chest, her rings cool against my skin.
I stared at the ceiling and tried not to smile like an idiot.
Failed.
“What?” she murmured without opening her eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Steven.”
I looked down at her.
Her hair was loose now, spilling over my arm. The tiara was on the dresser. The dress was folded carefully nearby. The veil shimmered faintly where it rested over the chair, Dipsi’s borrowed magic fading slowly in the quiet.
“I could get used to being married like this,” I said.
Aqua’s smile was sleepy and soft.
“So could I.”
I kissed her forehead.
She drifted again.
I held her there, warm and real and mine in the only way that mattered because she had chosen it.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I fell asleep without feeling like I had to guard my own dreams.
---
I woke up feeling good.
Too good.
That was the first problem.
My body should have felt tired. Heavy. Maybe sore in that warm, human way that came after being tangled up with someone you loved until the world forgot how to be loud.
Instead, my Beast Core felt clean.
Warm.
Stronger than it had the night before.
Fed.
My stomach turned.
No.
No, no, no.
I went completely still.
Aqua was asleep against me, her cheek resting near my shoulder, one hand curled lightly over my chest. Morning light slipped through the curtains and softened her face. She looked peaceful.
Too peaceful?
Drained?
Weak?
My heart started pounding.
I had not meant to siphon from her.
I had been careful.
I had been so careful.
Ever since the café, ever since I realized I could pull on love aura without meaning to, I had tried to lock that part of myself down. I still remembered the couple sitting there, their affection glowing between them like something private, and me feeling it answer inside me before I even understood what I was doing.
The guilt had been instant.
Sickening.
Aqua had told me we would handle it together. That I should tell her if something happened.
So I had tried to make sure nothing happened.
Not with strangers.
Not with her.
Especially not with her.
But now I felt stronger.
Clearer.
Fed.
And I did not know why.
“Aqua,” I whispered.
She stirred slightly.
“Aqua.”
Her eyes opened slowly.
“Mhm?”
“Are you okay?”
She blinked, still half asleep.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
That woke her more.
Her brows drew together.
“Steven?”
I pulled back enough to look at her properly, my chest tightening with every breath.
“Do you feel weak? Tired? Drained at all?”
The sleep faded from her eyes.
Understanding came in slowly.
Then concern.
Not for herself.
For me.
That made it worse.
“I do not feel drained,” she said carefully.
“You’re not just saying that?”
“No.”
I looked over her face, searching for signs I had taken too much.
Paleness.
Exhaustion.
Dull eyes.
That soft heaviness she got when she needed rest.
Nothing.
She looked different.
Not weaker.
Brighter, maybe.
Her eyes seemed clearer in the morning light, and there was a softness around her that felt rested rather than drained.
Still, fear sat hard in my ribs.
“I feel good,” I said, like confessing something terrible.
Aqua’s expression shifted.
“Good?”
“Too good.”
She was quiet for a second.
I swallowed.
“I didn’t mean to siphon from you. I swear I didn’t. I tried not to. I wasn’t trying to take anything, but I woke up and my core feels…” I stopped, searching for the right word. “Fed. And I don’t know why.”
Aqua pushed herself up slightly, the blanket gathered around her. Her rings flashed in the morning light.
She placed one hand against her own chest.
“I feel different too.”
My whole body froze.
“Different bad?”
“No.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.” She took a careful breath, as if trying to understand the feeling inside herself before describing it. “My Currena feels smoother. Lighter. Like it is moving more easily than before.”
I stared at her.
“You feel better too?”
She nodded slowly.
The tightness in my chest loosened by one painful inch.
If I had taken from her, she would not feel better.
Right?
She would not.
Aqua touched my cheek.
“Steven, I do not think you siphoned from me.”
I closed my eyes, but the fear did not fully leave.
“How do you know?”
“Because siphoning pulls in one direction,” she said softly. “This did not feel like that.”
I opened my eyes.
“What did it feel like?”
She looked down at our hands, at the rings resting against both of our fingers.
“Like a circle.”
The word settled between us.
A circle.
I remembered the night before.
The warmth.
The way her aura had not weakened or faded, but answered mine. The way my Amoris had felt less like it was reaching to take and more like it was moving with something.
“A circle,” I repeated.
Aqua nodded.
“I think… it may have been dual cultivation.”
I blinked.
“Dual what?”
Her cheeks warmed a little.
“Dual cultivation.”
“That sounds official.”
“It is.”
“Okay. Great. What is it?”
She smiled faintly despite the seriousness still hanging over us.
“It is when two people’s auras or cores resonate closely enough that energy moves between them instead of only from one person to another. It can refine both. Strengthen both. Balance what is unstable.”
I stared at her.
“So… we accidentally trained while being married?”
Aqua’s blush deepened.
“That is a very Steven way to say it.”
“But not wrong?”
“Not completely.”
That helped.
A little.
Then my brain caught up with the rest of it, and my face warmed too.
“Oh.”
Aqua laughed softly.
I dragged a hand over my face.
“Okay. Sorry. I’m trying to understand the magical implications of last night without sounding like an idiot, and I am not doing great.”
“You are doing fine.”
“I panicked because I thought I fed off my wife.”
Her expression softened.
“You were afraid you hurt me.”
“Yeah.”
“You did not.”
I looked at her.
The way she said it mattered.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Just truth.
My shoulders finally loosened.
“I didn’t?”
“No.” She leaned closer and brushed her thumb over my jaw. “You did not siphon me.”
I let out a breath that almost shook.
Aqua watched me carefully.
Then she said, “Siphoning takes. What happened last night shared.”
I held onto that.
Took.
Shared.
Different.
Very different.
“Can dual cultivation happen to anyone?” I asked.
“I think so,” Aqua said slowly. “But it depends on the bond. Trust. Openness. Balance.” Her gaze moved to our rings. “Marriage may make it stronger.”
“Because of the vows?”
“Maybe.” She touched her ring. “Not because a rite creates trust by itself, but because the promise is chosen out loud. The bond becomes intentional. Witnessed. Given shape.”
I looked at my own ring.
“So because we’re married now… our auras trusted each other more?”
Aqua smiled softly.
“That sounds right.”
I let out a small breath.
“That is dangerously convenient.”
“Or beautifully timed.”
I looked at her.
She looked back at me, warm, sleepy, and glowing in the morning light, like she belonged to every good thing left in the world.
Beautifully timed.
Yeah.
Maybe.
Aqua’s hand shifted over my chest, her expression turning gently teasing.
“You were different last night.”
Every ounce of confidence I had apparently borrowed from being a husband evaporated.
“Different how?”
“More certain.”
My face heated.
“Oh.”
“You did not ask me every few seconds if I was all right.”
“I was still checking.”
“I know.” Her smile warmed. “But you knew me. You trusted that I would tell you. And you trusted yourself more.”
I looked away, suddenly very interested in the curtain.
“Don’t get used to it.”
Aqua laughed.
“I will not expect it every day.”
“Good.”
Her fingers touched my ring.
“But I will cherish it.”
That got me.
Completely.
I looked back at her, and all the embarrassment softened into something else.
Something fuller.
“You make it really hard to pretend I’m not happy,” I said.
“Why would you pretend?”
“I don’t know. Habit, probably.”
Aqua leaned in and kissed me softly.
Morning kisses were different.
Less urgency.
More warmth.
Like the world had not fully woken yet, and for a few seconds, neither of us had to either.
When she pulled back, I rested my forehead against hers.
“So dual cultivation,” I said.
Aqua smiled.
“Yes.”
“And we both feel better.”
“Yes.”
“And I did not accidentally drain you.”
“No.”
“And we’re married.”
Her smile widened.
“Yes.”
I let out a breath.
“Okay. Great. Just checking all the important categories.”
Aqua laughed softly.
I smiled.
But beneath the smile, another thought had already started to form.
Small at first.
Quiet.
Dangerously hopeful.
If our bond could strengthen both of us…
If being close to Aqua could make my core feel clean instead of jagged…
If love did not always have to be something I feared taking…
Maybe my Salvatore side was not only a curse.
Maybe Amoris did not have to mean hunger without mercy.
Maybe there was a way to use it without becoming like the monsters I was afraid of.
Maybe being married changed something.
Maybe we had found a way forward.
I looked down at our joined hands, at the rings resting between us.
Married.
Bonded.
Stronger.
For the first time, the Salvatore part of me did not feel like a hunger waiting to ruin everything.
It felt like something that could love her back without taking too much.
I wanted to believe that.
So badly, I did.
Aqua curled closer again, resting her head against my chest.
Outside, morning light grew brighter through the curtains.
The house was quiet.
Peaceful.
For now, I let myself hold her and believe peace could last longer than a single night.
I did not know then how dangerous hope could become when it was built on only half the truth.
I did not know how easily I would mistake steadiness for permission.
I did not know how badly I would misunderstand the difference between sharing and taking.
That morning, all I knew was that Aqua was smiling, I had not hurt her, and for once, my Amoris felt clean.