Cassian recovered the way injured stray cats recovered.

Aggressively.

Loudly.

And with deep personal offense toward anyone trying helping him.

“You are all hovering,” he announced from the safehouse couch while Morvena rewrapped the bandages around his ribs for the third time that week.

“You almost died twice in one month,” Morvena replied without sympathy.

“Details.”

“Collapsed lung.”

“Technicalities.”

Seraphina sat cross-legged on the floor nearby sorting through supply inventories while trying not laughing.

The old sanctuary safehouse felt different these days.

Lighter somehow.

Not happy exactly.

Too many people still carried grief for that.

But alive.

The kitchen radio worked again after Lucien spent two hours repairing it despite openly claiming modern electronics were “structurally disrespectful.” Someone kept leaving fresh flowers in the windowsills downstairs. Refugee children now treated the main hallway like an indoor racetrack despite repeated threats from exhausted adults.

Life kept returning in strange uneven pieces.

Cassian complained through all of it.

Which honestly reassured everyone more than medical reports did.

“You’re healing well,” Seraphina said.

Cassian narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“That sounded manipulative.”

“It was encouragement.”

“Disgusting behavior.”

Morvena tied off the bandage sharply enough making him hiss.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet beloved.”

“No one said beloved.”

“Emotionally implied.”

Lucien entered the room carrying fresh tea halfway through the argument.

The atmosphere shifted slightly the way it always did when he appeared now—not fearful anymore, just aware. People still noticed him instinctively. The First Vampire had become difficult ignoring in small spaces.

Lucien handed Morvena a cup first.

Then Seraphina.

Then finally Cassian.

Cassian stared at the tea suspiciously.

“Is this poisoned?”

Lucien looked genuinely offended.

“I spent fifteen minutes steeping that properly.”

“That does not answer my question.”

Seraphina smiled into her cup before realizing something strange.

This felt normal.

God.

Not the apocalypse-normal they’d grown used to during wartime.

Actual normal.

Friends arguing over tea.

Rain outside the windows.

The safehouse heater making awful rattling noises again because nobody trusted Lucien fixing appliances after “the toaster incident.”

It startled her sometimes how quickly the human brain adapted after catastrophe.

Lucien settled quietly into the armchair beside her afterward, one hand resting lightly against the back of her chair in a gesture so unconscious neither of them seemed noticing anymore.

Cassian absolutely noticed.

His expression became instantly unbearable.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Seraphina looked up.

“What now?”

“You two have developed the body language of married people who own expensive bookshelves.”

Lucien blinked once.

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means,” Cassian continued dramatically, “you radiate unbearable emotional stability.”

Morvena took her tea and moved farther away from all three of them.

“Smartest decision made in this room today,” she muttered.

Cassian pointed accusingly toward Lucien.

“You look at her like she personally negotiated peace with gravity.”

Lucien glanced toward Seraphina automatically after hearing that.

Which unfortunately proved the point immediately.

Cassian made a horrified sound.

“See? Disgusting.”

Seraphina laughed despite herself.

God.

That still felt rare enough catching her by surprise sometimes.

Not because happiness disappeared after the war.

Because everyone remained careful around joy now. Like too much of it might attract disaster again if they weren’t cautious.

Cassian noticed her laughing too.

And for one quiet second, something softer crossed his face.

Relief maybe.

Found family healing looked strange on survivors. Usually it appeared disguised as sarcasm and tea arguments and checking whether someone ate dinner without openly admitting concern.

“You’re staring,” Seraphina told him.

Cassian immediately recovered.

“I’m mourning the death of romantic subtlety.”

“There was never subtlety.”

“False. There was at least six months of longing eye contact and emotional repression.”

Lucien looked deeply tired suddenly.

“I survived eldritch corruption for this.”

Morvena leaned against the kitchen doorway sipping tea calmly.

“No,” she corrected. “You survived eldritch corruption because of this.”

Silence followed briefly after that.

Not awkward.

Just real.

Because everyone in the room understood what she meant.

Love saved them.

Messily.

Violently.

Incompletely.

But still.

The world existed because certain people refused letting each other die even when logic strongly suggested otherwise.

Cassian shifted carefully against the couch cushions afterward, one hand unconsciously pressing near his healing ribs.

Seraphina noticed immediately.

“You’re overdoing it again.”

“I walked down one staircase.”

“You nearly passed out afterward.”

“The staircase was emotionally aggressive.”

Lucien reached over and handed him another pain tonic without comment.

Cassian accepted it automatically before pausing.

Then suspiciously:

“Wait. Was that kindness?”

Lucien looked toward him calmly.

“You are technically my friend now. Unfortunately.”

Cassian stared at him for several long seconds afterward.

Then dramatically placed one hand over his chest.

“You hear that?” he whispered toward Seraphina. “The immortal nightmare finally admitted emotional attachment.”

“You cried when Morvena got stabbed,” Morvena reminded him from the doorway.

“That was medically stressful.”

“You screamed my name.”

“Professional concern.”

Seraphina laughed hard enough nearly spilling her tea.

God.

The sound echoed warmly through the safehouse living room while rain tapped softly against the windows and evening settled over Prague outside.

And for the first time in a very long time—

nobody in the room immediately expected tragedy following moments like this.

Cassian looked around the room afterward with quieter eyes than usual.

At Morvena.

At Lucien.

At Seraphina curled sideways in the chair beside him looking more alive than she had in months.

Found family.

Not perfect.

Not untouched by grief.

Still here anyway.

Cassian sighed dramatically into his tea.

“You are all emotionally exhausting.”

Lucien raised one eyebrow slightly.

“You once wrote a seven-page psychological profile analyzing whether Seraphina was secretly in love with me.”

Cassian froze.

Seraphina nearly choked.

Morvena started laughing immediately.

“You what?”

Cassian looked genuinely betrayed.

“That document was private.”

“You left it on the war strategy table,” Lucien replied calmly.

“That was an administrative accident.”

Seraphina stared at him in horror.

“You psychoanalyzed my feelings during the apocalypse?”

Cassian pointed at both of them defensively.

“You were communicating through unresolved eye contact and near-death experiences. Someone needed organizational charts.”

Lucien actually laughed then.

Real laugh.

Warm and startled and entirely unguarded.

The entire room went quiet for half a second afterward because nobody heard that sound often enough yet.

Cassian looked personally offended by the existence of happiness.

Then he leaned back carefully against the couch and sighed like a deeply burdened man forced witnessing romance against his will.

“Honestly,” he muttered, “you’re both disgusting lovers.”