A morning too gentle to last
Sunlight reached the safehouse slowly—
thin gold ribbons slipping past the curtains,
warming the floor,
warming the air,
warming the soft tangle of limbs and breath
I found myself in.
I woke second.
Rowan was first.
I knew because the moment I shifted,
his fingers tightened around mine,
and a tiny breath escaped him.
"…she's still here."
He whispered it against my shoulder,
forehead resting lightly against me—
not out of sleepiness,
but relief so deep it softened every line of his body.
Then Chandler stirred.
Half-asleep, warmth-seeking,
he turned toward the nearest heat source—me—
and bumped his head gently against my knee.
A low, confused sound slipped from his throat.
"…warm…?"
His fingers flexed.
Then he froze.
He looked down—at his hand on my leg.
Then at Rowan pressed against my shoulder.
Then at Lucian curled near my knee.
Then at Horace behind me,
half-cradling my spine with his steady presence.
And Chandler shot bolt upright.
"What kind of cuddle-pile did I fall into—?!"
"Shh!" Rowan hissed, panicked.
"She's still—"
"I am being quiet!" Chandler protested loudly.
"You're yelling—!"
"You started it—!"
Horace opened his eyes with the kind of patience
reserved for monks and exhausted caretakers.
"If you two wake her,"
he said calmly,
voice deep as a threat wrapped in velvet,
"I will throw both of you into the nearest snowbank."
Chandler shut his mouth instantly.
Rowan squeaked and pressed closer out of instinct.
Lucian was next.
He murmured something incoherent,
shifted,
then blinked awake directly into the realization
that his cheek was resting against my thigh
and his fingers were still curled around my wrist.
"Oh—I—did I—did I drool—?!"
"Yes," Chandler said.
"No," Elliot said flatly.
Lucian nearly combusted in embarrassment
until Rowan gently covered his mouth and whispered,
"You're fine."
And through the chaos—
through the warmth,
the breathing,
the closeness—
I breathed out softly.
Every boy froze.
Six sets of eyes snapped to me immediately.
I blinked my eyes open,
soft and slow.
"…good morning."
Rowan flushed crimson.
Lucian hid behind his sleeves.
Chandler scrubbed the back of his neck.
Horace's lips curved in a warm, quiet smile.
Elliot exhaled, relieved.
"You look like you actually slept," Elliot murmured.
"I did," I whispered.
And I felt it—
the room softening in one collective breath.
Part II — Morning Warmth, Morning Jealousy
Rowan didn't move.
He stayed tucked into my shoulder,
hands still linked with mine,
face warm against my skin.
Guilt flickered in his eyes—
but so did something small and hopeful.
Chandler noticed.
His jaw tightened.
"You planning on staying glued to her all morning, or…?"
Rowan sputtered.
"It's not like that! I just—she's warm—!"
"Then I'm sitting closer," Chandler muttered,
shifting an inch left.
"You're already close!"
Horace placed a steady hand on Rowan's shoulder.
"Slow movements," he advised.
"You'll frighten her."
"I'M NOT FRIGHTENING ANYONE," Rowan panicked.
Lucian peeked up timidly.
"W-was it okay… that we… stayed close? Last night?"
The softness in his voice washed over me.
"Yes," I said softly.
"It was more than okay."
Lucian turned red from ears to neck.
Chandler cleared his throat too loudly.
Rowan's fingers tightened around mine.
Horace's knee pressed lightly into my thigh.
Elliot watched all of it with a knowing smirk.
For a moment,
the world felt unrealistically gentle.
Too gentle.
And then—
A knock shattered it.
Part III — The Outside Returns
Three knocks.
Slow.
Measured.
Every boy reacted instantly.
Chandler shot up.
Rowan flinched.
Lucian scrambled backward.
Horace stepped in front of me in one powerful, silent movement.
Elliot positioned himself near the children.
The air went tight.
Then—
"Horace?"
A voice.
Low.
Controlled.
Barely holding itself together.
Horace's back straightened.
Rowan whispered, "Is that—?"
Chandler groaned, "Yep. We're dead."
Horace closed his eyes,
breathed out slowly,
and opened the door.
Standing there—
battered, breathless,
smeared with dirt and blood—
was Gideon.
His eyes scanned the room—
Rowan.
Chandler.
Lucian.
Elliot.
Horace.
And then—
Me.
His chest rose sharply.
"Elleanore."
Everything inside the safehouse shifted.
Part IV — Gideon's POV (a moment of breaking)
She's alive.
She's warm.
She's surrounded.
But she wasn't alone
and she wasn't afraid.
The sight hit Gideon harder than any blow he'd taken on his way here.
Horace standing guard behind her.
Rowan wrapped around her hand.
Chandler pressed too close.
Lucian curled near her knee.
Elliot watching protectively.
Too close.
All of them.
And she looked…
peaceful.
Gideon's voice cracked.
"Elleanore…"
Not accusation.
Not anger.
Just raw relief
and something jagged underneath it.
Part V — Her Decision to Stand
I rose slowly from the couch.
The boys surrounded me instantly—
not trapping,
not claiming,
but supporting.
Chandler steadied my elbow.
Rowan squeezed my hand.
Lucian stepped aside, too flustered to speak.
Horace stayed right behind me,
a steady presence at my spine.
Elliot kept close, brotherly and alert.
Gideon watched every movement,
each one cutting deeper into him.
"…you slept with all of them?"
His voice was small.
Rowan choked.
Chandler reddened to his ears.
Lucian nearly fainted.
Horace's expression sharpened.
Elliot sighed heavily.
"I slept near them," I corrected.
Gideon's breath shuddered out.
He stepped closer,
eyes softening to something painfully vulnerable.
"I looked for you," he whispered.
"Since dawn.
I found blood.
Tracks.
Signs of a struggle.
I thought—"
His voice cracked.
"I thought I lost you."
My heart clenched.
"Gideon," I breathed.
And something in him broke open.
Part VI — The New Gravity
Rowan didn't let go.
Chandler didn't step back.
Lucian didn't hide.
Horace didn't loosen his guard.
Elliot didn't leave my side.
But none of them tried to pull me away from Gideon.
They watched.
They understood.
Gideon, exhausted and bruised,
looked at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to air.
The room pulsed with tension—
not romantic alone,
not jealous alone,
but heavy with choices and truths
and everything unspoken.
Something had begun last night—
soft, intimate, overwhelming—
and now the world outside
had come knocking.
Hard.
Part VII — The Warning That Shatters Everything
Gideon swallowed,
casting a glance at his wounded arm.
"It wasn't me they were after," he rasped.
Rowan stiffened.
Lucian held his breath.
Chandler's jaw clenched.
Horace's hand twitched toward his blade.
Elliot asked the question for all of them:
"Who?"
Gideon looked straight at me.
"They're hunting you, Elleanore."
The room went silent.
Pain flickered in his eyes.
"They think you're part of a rogue operation.
They think you're transporting a high-value target."
His voice broke.
"They're sweeping the forest.
With scent trackers."
Lucian paled.
Chandler cursed softly.
Rowan squeezed my hand like he might lose me.
Horace's entire posture shifted—
from warm to lethal.
Elliot summed it up in a whisper:
"They'll follow her scent here."
Gideon nodded.
"I barely got here first."
The next words dropped like a stone:
"You have to come with me."
Everyone froze.
Rowan's eyes widened in panic.
Chandler looked like someone hit him.
Lucian shook his head in tiny, helpless motions.
Horace's jaw locked.
Elliot's expression sharpened with protective conflict.
I didn't get to answer.
Because—
The safehouse shook. Once. Hard.
A heavy footstep outside.
Too heavy.
Too close.
Lucian whimpered.
Rowan's breath hitched in fear.
Chandler reached for my hand.
Horace stepped fully in front of me.
Elliot moved toward the weapon stash.
Gideon whispered, pale:
"…they found us."
And the door handle began to turn.