Page 29 of Monster's Secret Baby

Her back is to me, but I'd know those curves anywhere, burned as they are into my memory. She's wearing a simple dress, sleeves rolled up despite the chill. And her hair—that impossible hair—is piled atop her head, a few curls escaping to frame her face as she turns slightly.

The world stops spinning. The rain freezes in mid-air. My heart forgets to beat.

"Harmony," I whisper, the name torn from my throat.

She hasn't seen me. She's still bent over, wiping at whatever has spilled, her movements quick and efficient. She's curvier than I remember, looking absolutely fucking perfect. Still radiating that quiet strength that drew me to her from the first moment.

I stare, blinking, wondering if I'll wake from this dream. If I'm still caught in a waking nightmare. I wave in indecision as I stare at her, wondering what to do.

She's here. I've found her.

And now that I have, I will not fucking let her go again.

14

ADELLUM

I've become a shadow, a whisper on the edges of this village. For two days, I've watched her—my Harmony, alive and whole, moving through this sleepy hamlet as if she belongs here. As if she's found peace without me.

A better man would let her have it. But me? I'd become so fucking twisted without her that I was determined to snatch it up and keep it, keep her and everything she found buried deep beneath my skin where she belongs.

The innkeeper, a stooped, sour-faced woman with hands like gnarled roots, took my money with narrowed eyes.

"Not a word about me," I told her, pressing extra novas into her palm. "To anyone."

"Your business is your own," she replied, but the way she looked at my wings told me exactly what she thought of xaphan business in her village. "Room's at the top of the stairs. Meals extra."

I barely use the room. Sleep is still a distant memory, especially now with Harmony so close I can almost taste her on the air. Instead, I haunt the village like a specter, keeping to shadows and alleyways, watching her from corners and rooftops with wings tucked tight against my back.

She works at a restaurant—a homey place that seems to be the heart of this backwater village. I perch on a rooftop across the square, watching as she moves through her days.

Harmony looks different. Softer, somehow. Her body has filled out, curves where once there were angles, a fullness to her that makes my hands itch to trace those new contours. Her hair is longer too, wild curls often contained beneath a scarf as she works. But it's her eyes that have changed the most—still that mesmerizing hazel-green flecked with gold, but now guarded, cautious. The easy openness I remember is gone.

What happened to you, little bird?

On the first morning, I watch her open the restaurant, sweeping the front step in the pale dawn light, her movements efficient and practiced. A woman—older, with iron-gray hair and a commanding presence—joins her, and their voices drift across the empty square.

"Market day," the older woman says. "We'll need extra bread."

Harmony nods, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I started the dough last night. And I've pickled those dreelk greens you wanted."

"Good girl." The woman—the owner, I assume—squeezes Harmony's shoulder. "What would I do without you?"

Harmony's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Probably sleep more."

I squeeze the geode in my pocket until my palm throbs. Five years she's been here, building a life without me, while I tore the world apart looking for her. The rage burns low in my gut, but beneath it lies something worse—fear. Fear that she never wanted to be found.

Not that it will stop me. Nothing will stop me from getting to her.

By midday, the restaurant bustles with locals. I move closer, finding a shadowed alcove between buildings where I can hear the chatter spilling through open windows.

"Harmony!" a man's voice calls out. "These quillnash cakes are better than my mother's, and I'll be damned if I ever admit that to her face."

Her laugh—gods, her laugh—floats through the air, lighter than I remember, but still unmistakably hers. "Your secret's safe with me, Holt."

I peer around the edge of the building, catching just a glimpse of her as she serves a plate to a ruddy-faced farmer. She moves with grace, smiling and nodding as she weaves between tables. But there's a guardedness to her, a careful distance even as she chats and serves. She's built walls I never saw before.

The evening brings a softer rhythm to the village. I follow Harmony as she leaves the restaurant, carrying a small basket of what looks like kitchen scraps. She walks to a modest garden plot behind the building, where neat rows of vegetables grow in tidy lines. Even in the fading light, I can see the care she's taken with this patch of earth—so like her, to coax life from the soil with those gentle hands.

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