Marin sighed theatrically, then softened a fraction. "Rafael, listen. You're fine. The baby is fine." His gaze sharpened again. "But you need to stop treating anxiety like something you can outwork."
Rafael's throat tightened. "I'm not..."
"You are," Marin said. "And if you keep doing it, the tension will become real contractions. Not today. Not tomorrow. But eventually."
Rafael went still.
Marin's tone remained dry, but there was steel under it. "The Empire will survive if you take naps. Your husband will survive if he has to eat lunch without you once. The baby will not benefit from you grinding yourself into dust."
The word "husband" still hit Rafael strangely sometimes - domestic and dangerous in the same breath.
Rafael swallowed, voice smaller than he liked. "Gregoris is… protective."
Marin snorted. "A Shadow commander? Protective? Shocking."
Rafael's lips twitched despite himself.
