A new ripple coursed through the realm, this time deeper. Brighter.
Pure.
A wave of soft power, like sunlight breaking through the surface of a deep lake.
They turned.
Nova was there.
At the edge of the mist, floating gently in the arms of the dream.
A newborn.
Swaddled in moonlight and warmth, a curl of black hair on her head, her cheeks rosy, her little mouth slack with sleep. Her tiny hands flexed in her sleep, and the entire dreamscape glowed.
Samantha gasped and ran.
She nearly stumbled through the mist, tears already falling down her cheeks. "Nova," she breathed, scooping her up in trembling arms.
The baby shifted in her sleep, a soft coo escaping her lips.
Callum was there next, hovering like he didn't dare touch.
But Samantha looked at him. "Hold her."
"I don't want to hurt her," he whispered, voice raw.
"You won't."
His hands—scarred, burned, still smoldering—reached out.
And the moment they touched Nova's tiny form, the fire in him quieted.
