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I decide not to ask.

Vidar’s arm rests around my waist, his fingers moving lazily along my back.

His magenta eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen them.

No anger.

No shadows.

Just the man beneath the god.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

He looks at me for a long moment.

“That I spent three thousand years believing vengeance was the only thing worth living for.”

My smile softens.

“And now?”

He brushes a curl from my forehead.

Then kisses it.

“Now I am reconsidering.”

I press my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

Outside, Saint Street hums with distant music and passing cars.

Inside, the God of Wrath holds me as though he has nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

And for once, he doesn’t ask me for a promise.

Doesn’t demand forever.

Doesn’t try to claim a future I haven’t offered.

His arm tightens gently around me. “I love you.”

I smile against his skin. “I love you.”

I close my eyes.

Then he adds, “Though I remain deeply concerned about the structural integrity of this bed.”

I laugh so hard I nearly fall off it.

He catches me effortlessly.

“See?” he says smugly. “Another rescue.”

I kiss his chest.

“My hero.”

“Always.”