Chapter 63: Caught

"Sit down," she ordered.

Kael blinked, pausing with one foot half-lifted. "I haven’t even taken my boots off."

"And you’re already trying to balance on one leg with bruised ribs like nothing happened," Sera countered, dropping to one knee in front of him to unlace his heavy combat boots herself before he could protest. "Leave them by the mat and go sit on the sofa."

Knowing better than to argue when Sera used that particular tone, Kael stepped out of his boots, shrugged carefully out of his torn field jacket, and sank onto the cushions.

Sera followed a second later, sitting sideways beside him. With a touch so light it barely brushed the cotton gauze, her fingers traced the outline of the dressing on his forearm. Up close, Kael could see the faint dark circles beneath her eyes and the lingering tremor in her hands that she was trying hard to hide.

"Tell me everything," she said quietly. "From the moment you stepped off the bus."

Kael didn’t leave out a single detail.

Keeping his voice low so it wouldn’t carry into the bedroom, he told her about the torn perimeter fence, about calming the panicked machinist by the tool bay, and about the security SUV flipping onto its side thirty yards ahead of them. He told her how the three scavengers had charged the fleeing workers and the crippled guard, how he had used his trench knife to bring the first two down, and how the third beast had caught his shoulder and slammed him into the concrete ramp while he was keeping it off Lucas.

Sera didn’t interrupt once. She just sat there with her hand resting near his wrist, her face growing paler with every blow he described.

When he finally finished with Robert Hale’s arrival and the ride to the triage tent, the living room fell completely silent save for the ticking of the wall clock above the kitchen arch.

Sera stared down at the white bandage for a long, heavy moment before raising her eyes to his.

"You were inches away from not coming back tonight," she whispered.

The raw honesty in her voice stripped away any urge Kael might have had to downplay it. He lowered his gaze slightly. "Yes."

"If that third monster had hit your neck instead of your collarbone, I wouldn’t even have known until an Association officer knocked on that door."

"I know, Sera."

She pulled her hands back into her lap, lacing her fingers tightly together to stop them from shaking.

"I’m not angry that you stepped in front of those people, Kael," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears that she refused to let fall. "If you were the kind of man who could stand behind a barrier and watch an old man and a teenage kid get mauled to death, you wouldn’t be the man I married. I know why you drew your knife."

She swallowed hard, looking straight at him.

"But when you stood right there two hours ago and promised me you would stay on the outer line and pull back if things got too heavy, I believed you," she continued softly. "I sat at that table with Noah in my arms, watching black smoke rise over the eastern district on the news feed, telling myself over and over, He’s just directing buses. He’s behind the C-ranks. He’s safe. And the whole time, you were fighting three monsters alone in the dark with a short knife."

Kael’s throat tightened until it hurt to swallow.

Out on the street, with blood in his eyes and civilians screaming, the choice had felt simple—binary, even. Move or let people die. Sitting here in the quiet warmth of their home, looking at the terror he had carved into his wife’s face, he realized that the price of that choice hadn’t just been paid by his own bruised ribs. Sera had paid for every second of that hour in pure, helpless dread.

He reached out with his good right hand and covered her clenched fingers.

"I’m sorry," Kael said softly, his voice rough. "You’re right. When the line broke, I didn’t wait for support or look for another way to draw them off—I just threw myself into the gap and hoped I was tough enough to survive it. What if there had been a fourth one in the shadows? What if my legs had given out after the second hit?"

Sera turned her hands over, gripping his hand tightly with both of hers.

"I will never ask you to stop being who you are," she whispered fiercely. "And I know why you’re doing this for our family. But I need you to understand that your life does not belong just to you anymore, Kael Ashford. Noah needs his father to teach him how to walk, and I cannot do this life without my partner."

"You won’t ever have to," Kael said, meeting her eyes squarely. "Marcus tore into me for the exact same thing in the infirmary. He pulled me off active field duty until I’m healed, and then he’s putting me through remedial defensive training from scratch—how to control distance, how to use cover, and how to retreat alive instead of trading hits. No more relying on brute force and luck."

Sera searched his face for a long moment, reading the bone-deep sincerity in his eyes, before the rigid tension in her shoulders finally gave way.

"And if a siren ever goes off in your sector again," she murmured, "you call me the second your hands are free."

"The very second," Kael promised.

Closing the distance between them, Sera leaned in and rested her forehead against his, her eyes slipping shut as she breathed him in. Kael slid his right arm around her waist, pulling her close against his uninjured side and resting his chin against her hair.

"I’m so glad you’re home," she whispered against his collarbone.

"Me too," Kael murmured. "Nowhere else in the world I’d rather be."

They stayed like that in the quiet glow of the lamp for a long time, simply holding onto the solid, breathing reality of each other until the lingering chill of the industrial yard was gone for good.

Finally, Sera pulled back a few inches, wiping the corner of her eye with the back of her thumb before glancing down at his flat stomach as it let out a low, traitorously loud rumble.

She froze, narrowing her eyes at him. "Wait a minute. Did the Association feed you at the staging camp?"

Kael blinked, pausing for half a beat. "...No."

Sera stared at him in disbelief. "You got called out at seven o’clock, evacuated a warehouse district, fought three dungeon monsters with a knife, got stitched up in a field tent, rode the transit across town, and you haven’t eaten a single bite since lunch?"

"When you list it out in chronological order like that, it sounds pretty bad."

"Because it is bad!" Sera scolded, though the familiar spark of exasperation in her eyes was a welcome relief after her tears.

Kael offered a sheepish grin. "In my defense, the triage tent wasn’t exactly serving hot meals, and I wanted to get home to you."

Sera shook her head, rising from the sofa and smoothing down her cardigan. "Flattery won’t save you. Stay planted right on those cushions. I made chicken and vegetable stew before the call came in—it’s still warm on the stove."

"I can come help you dish it up," Kael said, shifting to stand.

Sera leveled a flat look at his bandaged left forearm. "With what? Are you planning to ladle broth with six fresh stitches, or carry bowls with one hand while your ribs are bruised?"

"I could offer moral support from the kitchen doorway."

"Your moral support usually involves stealing pieces of bread before the soup is ready," she shot back. "Sit."

Kael chuckled—Remembering half a second too late to brace his ribs—and winced, pressing his right hand lightly against his side.

"See?" Sera pointed a finger at him as she headed into the kitchen. "Don’t move a muscle."

Watching her disappear behind the counter to the comforting clatter of ceramic bowls, Kael leaned his head back against the sofa cushions, a deep warmth settling into his chest. Even after the worst scare of their marriage, the rhythm of their home hadn’t broken.

A couple of minutes later, as the rich smell of simmered broth and garlic drifted out of the kitchen, a soft, sleepy babble floated through the cracked door of the bedroom.

Kael turned his head immediately toward the hallway. "Sounds like somebody’s up."

"He usually wakes up around ten for a dream-feed," Sera called over the clink of a spoon.

Forgetting his orders entirely, Kael planted his right hand on the armrest and started to push himself up.

Sera materialized in the kitchen archway instantly, a wooden spoon in one hand and her eyebrows raised. "And where exactly do you think you’re going?"