Page 37 of Monster's Secret Baby

The weight of his gaze makes me feel flayed open. Not with cruelty or anger, but with a reverence so intense it borders on worship. There's a desperate quality to how he looks at me, like a man who's been wandering in darkness suddenly finding light.

It would be easier if he were cruel. If he were the monster I've built him up to be in my mind, a heartless xaphan who used me and tossed me aside. That version of him I could hate cleanly, completely.

But this Adellum—with his bruised eyes and gentle hands, sketching our daughter with such aching devotion—this Adellum is chipping away at the armor I've built around my heart.

"Did you think, after all this time, I wouldn't soak in every detail? That I wouldn't take everything I could get?" He says it simply as he sets down his charcoal and rubs his thumb along the edge of the paper, staining his bronze skin with smudges of black. "I looked everywhere for you."

"Stop." I press my palms flat against the table, steadying myself. "You don't get to say things like that to me. Not after?—"

"After what?" He stands suddenly, wings unfurling slightly with his agitation. "Tell me what I did, Harmony. Because for five years, I've been trying to understand what drove you away, and I can't?—"

His frustration crashes against mine, igniting the spark I've been trying to smother.

"You know exactly what you did." My voice shakes with the effort to keep it low. "I was just foolish enough to think that you were no different than any other xaphan."

He assesses me, eyes slightly narrowed. "How am I like them?"

I shake my head. I have no interest in letting him use his pretty words to win me back over. I was foolish once, but not again.

No matter how much I want him.

"Get out." The words are a soft whisper, and for a moment, he doesn't move. Those silver eyes study me like they can see through to my soul.

But then Adellum nods, standing and grabbing his sketchbook. But as he passes by me, he pauses, head tilted to whisper low. "I'm not going anywhere, Harmony. No matter how hard you fight, how much you say you hate me. I will always be with you."

And then he's gone, leaving me far too rattled.

18

ADELLUM

Iwatch Harmony as she tends to her garden behind Marda's restaurant, a smudge of dirt on her cheek, her hair tied back with a faded scarf. She works methodically, her calloused fingers gentle as they press seeds into the freshly turned soil. My chest tightens at the sight of her, the same way it has every day since I found her again.

It still feels like a dream, one I am desperate not to wake from. We may be different now, more harsh edges and anger than before, but at our core, we are the same. And just being near Harmony has ripped me open again.

I shift the package in my hands, the weight of it nothing compared to the weight of what I've lost.

"I brought something for you," I say, and she startles, those hazel-green eyes flashing up at me.

Her expression hardens instantly. "I'm working, Adellum."

"You're always working." I step closer, lowering myself to one knee beside her patch of zynthra. Not too close—I've learned that lesson. Push too hard and she retreats further. And I do want her to give in—I just don't mind forcing it, too. "It'll only take a moment."

She sits back on her heels, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. There's wariness in her eyes, but curiosity too. Good. I can work with curiosity.

"What is it this time?" she asks, her voice carefully neutral.

At least she's coming to accept my presence, and gifts.

I unwrap the cloth covering my latest offering. "Dreelk seeds," I say, revealing the small packet. "Not the common variety. These are from the southern mountains of Ikoth. They're more resilient to frost, and the leaves are less bitter. Better for Brooke, who I've noticed picks around the regular dreelk in her stew."

Harmony's fingers twitch, but she doesn't reach for the packet. "You're watching what my daughter eats now?"

"I watch everything," I say simply, because it's the truth. I've catalogued every detail of their lives since I found them—Brooke's preference for her stuffed lunox with the worn ear, how Harmony hums when she kneads dough, the way she always leaves the window cracked at night even when it's cold.

"That's—"

"Unsettling?" I offer with a half-smile. "Probably. But I have five years to make up for."

---