The nursery monitor crackled once before falling silent.
Dean stood at the foot of their bed, fingers working the buttons of his shirt with more concentration than the task required. Behind him, Arion had finished settling Theodore into his cot after two false starts—a diaper change that Theo had protested with the moral outrage of a sovereign betrayed, followed by a bottle he had demanded and then refused to finish.
Now, finally, the suite had gone quiet.
Dean heard Arion's footsteps cross the nursery floor, pause, then return through the connecting door. It clicked shut.
Neither of them moved.
The fire had burned low, throwing long shadows across the ceiling. Dean's shirt hung open. He could feel the weight of Arion's attention on his back like a hand between his shoulder blades.
"He's asleep," Arion said.
"I know."
"Properly asleep."
Dean turned.
