Page 113 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
And I open the door.
The scent of synthwood polish and linen greets me first—sun-warm and faintly sweet. There’s a stack of colored blocks on the floor, toppled in a lazy arc. A few picture books scatteredacross the rug. And right in the center of it all, cross-legged on the floor mat, is Clancy.
He looks up.
Solemn, quiet, curious.
Big dark eyes that match Kalev’s so precisely it’s like the universe is playing a cruel joke.
But there’s wonder in it, too.
That odd, breathless awe of seeing something you never thought you’d live long enough to meet.
Kalev stops behind me.
And he breathes out.
Not a word.
Just asound—like the air’s been punched out of him sideways.
Clancy tilts his head. “Mama?”
I step aside.
Kalev doesn’t move forward.
Hecan’t.
His whole body is a sculpture now. Carved from something rigid and aching. His eyes—gods, hiseyes—are caught between reverence and devastation. Like every inch of him is collapsing and rising at once.
“That’s him,” I say softly.
“I know,” Kalev whispers.
The look on his face…
I’ve seen him gutted in field med bays. Seen him bloodied and stitched half-conscious. I’ve seen him swear battlefield vows with a rifle in one hand and shrapnel in the other.
But I’ve never seen himbreak.
Not like this.
His hands tremble at his sides.
Clancy’s still watching him with that wide, unblinking calm that always makes him seem older than he is.
“How old?” Kalev manages.
“Six.”
He lets out a shaky breath.
“I missed everything.”
“Not everything,” I say, though it feels like a lie even as I speak it.
“First words?” he asks, voice thin.
