The car pulled into the estate just after one in the morning.

Fireworks had ended hours ago, but the city was humming with the distant sound of celebration. The estate was dark, the foyer lamp left on, the windows unlit.

Lily was slumped against Arianne’s side, her mouth loose in sleep, Petal crushed between her cheek and Arianne’s arm. Leo’s head rested in her lap, the whale tucked under his chin, his breathing deep and even. Neither of them had made it through the car ride home.

"They’re done," Franz said.

"They’ve been done since the third firework."

"I’m impressed they made it that long."

Arianne eased Lily upright, careful not to wake her. "Can you carry Leo?"

"I’ve got him." Franz eased the car door open and lifted Leo into his arms. The boy didn’t stir. His head lolled against Franz’s shoulder, the whale dangling from one limp hand. Arianne guided Lily out of the car, the girl’s feet finding the ground just enough to walk, her body leaning heavily against Arianne’s side.

The house was dark as they made their way upstairs. The twins’ bedroom was exactly as they’d left it—the lion on Leo’s pillow, Lily’s drawings pinned to the wall near her side of the bed, the blanket from the fort they’d built weeks ago draped over the footboard.

Franz laid Leo down first. Arianne worked Lily’s shoes off, then her dress, replacing it with the rabbit pajamas she’d left folded on her nightstand that morning. Lily mumbled something about purple fireworks and turned onto her side, her hand reaching automatically for Petal.

Franz was less practiced with the pajamas. He managed Leo’s shirt but struggled with the pants, his fingers clumsy on the small buttons. Arianne didn’t offer to help. She watched him figure it out, his brow furrowed in concentration, his hands gentle on the sleeping boy.

When Leo was finally dressed, Franz pulled the blanket up to his chin. The lion was already in place on the pillow. The whale had been retrieved from where it had fallen and tucked under Leo’s arm.

Leo’s eyes fluttered open.

He looked at Arianne, his gaze hazy with sleep. His lips moved, the sound coming out soft and rusty and barely more than a whisper. "Ah-ree."

Franz went motionless beside the bed.

Arianne leaned down and smoothed Leo’s hair back from his forehead. "I’m here. We’re home. Go back to sleep."

Leo’s eyes closed. His hand found the Lion. His breathing evened out within seconds, the brief moment of wakefulness already forgotten.

Arianne straightened. She didn’t look at Franz immediately. She adjusted the blanket one more time, checked that Lily was covered, made sure the nightlight was on. Then she walked to the door and waited for him in the hallway.

Franz pulled the door closed behind them. The crack of light from the hallway fell across the twins’ sleeping faces and then disappeared.

In the hallway, Franz’s voice was low. "He said your name."

"Yes."

"You told me he was practicing. You didn’t tell me he could say it."

"He’s been trying for weeks. The school incident was the first time he spoke in front of anyone besides me." She paused. "The therapist said not to push. He’ll speak more when he’s ready."

"Has he said anything else?"

"No. He practices on his own. I hear him sometimes through the door at night. Sounds. Shapes. He’s figuring it out."

Franz said nothing for a stretch. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. "He called for you. In his sleep. He woke up and the first thing he did was call for you."

"I was there."

"I know. I heard it." He looked at her. "I’ve never heard his voice before. Not since the accident." He stopped. Shook his head. "It’s different. Hearing it in person."

Arianne didn’t answer. She reached out and touched his wrist. Then she turned toward his bedroom.

He followed her.

The lamp on the nightstand was already on, casting the room in warm amber light. Arianne stood near the bed, her back to him, her hair pinned up from the party. The champagne-colored dress had survived the evening intact, but barely: the fabric creased from the booth, the hem dusted from the walk to the car.

Franz moved behind her, his hands finding her shoulders first, then sliding down her arms. His lips brushed the curve of her neck, just below her ear. His fingers found the zipper of her dress and drew it down, the sound distinct in the dark room.

She sighed. "Aren’t you tired?"

"I did nothing all day. You gave a speech. You handled my mother. You stood in heels for hours. You should be the one who’s tired."

"I’m not tired, but my feet are aching."

He didn’t hesitate. He took her hand and led her to the edge of the bed, then knelt before her. His fingers found the strap of her heel and eased it off, one shoe and then the other. His hands were careful on her ankles, her arches, his thumbs pressing into the sore spots with just enough pressure.

She watched him. The longer hair falling across his forehead, the unshaved jaw, the careful and unhurried way he touched her.

"Is this for the role?" She cupped his chin, her thumb brushing the roughness of stubble. "The longer hair. The unshaved look."

"The director wanted a more mature look for the second season. I stopped shaving. Stopped cutting my hair." He paused. "Do you not like it?"

"It suits you."

"You said I looked mature and charming. Before."

"I remember."

"Are you taking it back?"

"No." Her hand dropped to his shoulder. "But if the director asks you to grow a beard, I may have opinions."

His mouth curved. "Noted. No beards."

"I didn’t say that."

"You implied it."

"I’m putting words in your mouth."

"I’d rather put other things there."

She laughed—a low, surprised sound—and he rose from his knees, easing her back onto the bed. The dress slid from her shoulders and pooled on the floor. His jacket followed, then his shirt. The lamp stayed on.

His voice dropped, turned more serious beneath the playfulness. "My parents are expecting a child. The twins are expecting a baby. I shouldn’t disappoint them."

"Is that why you’re doing this?"

"I’m doing this because I want you." His hand traced the curve of her waist. "The expectations are just a convenient excuse."

She didn’t answer with words. She pulled him closer, her fingers threading through his hair and drew him down to her. His mouth found hers, and the kiss deepened.

The room was warm. The night unfolded in familiar rhythms—skin against skin, low words, the intimacy of two people who knew each other completely. His name escaped her, soft and unguarded. Her back arched under his hands. He swallowed her sounds with his mouth and answered with his own.

When it was over, she lay against his chest, her breathing not yet even, her hair coming loose from its pins. He reached up and took out the remaining clips, letting her hair fall freely around her shoulders. His hand settled on her back, tracing slow circles against her skin.

Outside, the last celebrations were fading. The city had finally gone dark. The year had ended and the new one had begun.

Down the hall, the twins slept, Lily with Leo. The boy who hadn’t spoken in over a year had called Arianne’s name in his sleep. The girl who organized everything had dreamed of purple fireworks. And here, in the warm amber light of Franz’s bedroom, Arianne closed her eyes and let herself rest.