Page 82 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir

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I howl.

I cry.

I bleed.

And then?—

A tiny cry, sharper and sweeter than any alarm I’ve ever heard.

The baby is small. Fiery. Wrapped in the gauze I learned to fold with numb fingers — not gentle, not cautious — justsurvivor.

I hold him against my chest, skin-to-skin, feeling the faint press of life against my own ribs. Tiny fists curl. Tiny eyes blink at the light. Hair fine as stray silk.

And I name him.

Not for the world.

Not for the Alliance.

Not for war.

For the man who chose death so I could live.

I whisper it over and over, a vow stitched into bone and breath:

“Clancy…Kalevson.”

Not because he’s here.

Not because he came back.

But because his courage made this possible.

Because love and grief don’t cancel each other out.

Theycoexistin the same breath.

In the same first cry.

In the same name I whisper into the night as sand and breeze settle around this new life.

The joy I feel is inseparable from the ache that sits heavy in my chest — like two tides meeting at the same shore.

I pull the child close, feeling his warmth against the ghost of my own pain. My eyes travel across his tiny features, and I trace the curve of his brow with trembling fingers.

“You’re here,” I murmur. “And he mattered.”

Stars wheel overhead. The wind hums a low song.

I close my eyes.

And let both love and grief live inside me.

CHAPTER 27

KALEV

The light never goes all the way out in this place.

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