Chapter 163 Chapter 163

Chapter 163 Chapter 163
Kira’s POV

I walked into the room behind him , wrapping my arms around his waist from behind and resting my head against his back. We stood there together in the quiet room, looking down at our son, listening to the crackle of the stove in the living room and the quiet woods outside. Everything was set. The farm was ready, the winter was here, and our family was right where it was supposed to be.

"We made it, Talon," I said softly. He turned around, pulling me in close against his chest and wrapping his arms around me.
"We built a real home," he whispered, leaning down to kiss me. The nursery was quiet, the house was warm, and our life on the ridge was just getting started.

Talon's POV

The clock on the kitchen microwave said it was 3:14 AM. The house was completely dark except for the amber glow spilling out from the living room woodstove. Outside, the temperature had dropped into the teens, and the wind was coming hard off the ridge, rattling the frozen branches against the metal roof of the back porch.
I was standing by the kitchen island in a worn t-shirt and sweatpants, waiting for the bottle of pumped milk to warm up in the mug of hot water I'd drawn from the sink. The silence in the house was total. No monitors humming, no satellite links blinking, no encrypted texts vibrating on the counter. Just the steady heat from the hearth and the faint, rhythmic creak of the rocking chair coming from down the east hall.

I grabbed the bottle, checked the temp on the inside of my wrist, and walked down the hallway barefoot, keeping my steps light against the hardwood floor. Kira was sitting in the corner of the nursery with the dim wall light casting long shadows across the gray rug. She looked exhausted, her hair pulled back in a loose knot, a heavy wool blanket draped over her knees, but she was smiling down at the tiny bundle wrapped in  the green blanket.

"How's he holding up?" I asked, my voice staying low as I leaned against the doorframe. 
"He's hungry," she said, looking up at me. "And he's got a strong grip. He almost took down the sleeve of my sweater while I was trying to burp him." "That's my fault," I said, walking over and hand-delivering the bottle. "Bad habits early."

"Definitely your fault," she agreed, passing our son into my arms so she could stretch her back. I took him, settling his small frame into the crook of my elbow. He was barely seven pounds, but holding him felt heavier than anything I’d carried out of Manhattan. He blinked up at me with dark, unaligned eyes, his tiny mouth already making eager kissing noises until I got the nipple in place. He locked on immediately, his little hands bunched into tight fists against his chest.

I sat down on the low wooden chest by the window, watching his face while he drank. "Did Marcus finish clearing the lower road?" she asked, leaning her head back against the cushion of the rocker and closing her eyes.
"Yeah. He finished around midnight," I said. "Plowed all the way down to Mr. Gable's property line. Said the drifts were three feet deep near the creek, but the heavy tractor handled it fine."

"He's been working non-stop since we got back from the hospital," she said. "You need to make him take tomorrow off."
"I tried," I said, a faint grin touching my lips. "He told me property security doesn't pause for newborns and went back out to grease the plow blade." She laughed softly, the sound low and warm in the quiet room. "He's ridiculous."

"He's loyal," I said. "There's a difference. But I'll make sure he stays inside tomorrow morning. Martha's bringing over a pot of stew around noon anyway, so I'll force him to sit at the kitchen table and eat."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the soft gulps of our son finishing off the bottle. The wind gave a sharp gust outside, pushing against the glass, but the double-paned windows didn't let a bit of cold air through. I had spent three weeks making sure the insulation in this wing was sealed tight, and feeling the steady room temp right now made every hour spent up on the ladder worth it.

When the bottle was empty, I set it on the side table and brought the baby up against my shoulder, gently patting his back until he let out a surprisingly loud burp for a kid his size.
"Nice work, buddy," I said , leaning down to rub my cheek against the soft fuzz on top of his head. He smelled like baby soap, clean milk, and wool. Kira reached over, her hand resting flat over my knee. "So? Are we doing it?"
"Doing what?" I asked.

"Picking the name," she said, opening her eyes and watching me. "We've been calling him 'little guy' and 'the CEO' for three days. The birth certificate paperwork is sitting on your desk in the lab barn, Talon. We can't file it blank."
I looked down at the baby as he let out a sleepy yawn, his eyelids getting heavy as the milk took effect. "I've been thinking about it," I said.
"And?" she asked.

"Leo," I said. "Just Leo. No middle names honoring corporate founders, no legacy initials, no fancy family titles from the old country. Just Leo Steele."
She repeated it quietly under her breath, testing the sound of it against the silent room. "Leo."

"Simple," I said. "Grounded. Something that belongs to him, not to whatever mess we left behind in Switzerland or Manhattan." A slow, real smile spread across her face. She reached out, running a finger over Leo's dark hair. "Leo. It fits him. He's already stubborn enough."
"He comes by it honestly," I said.

I stood up carefully, keeping Leo nestled against my chest as his head flopped back against my shoulder, completely out cold. I walked over to the white oak crib in the corner, gently laying him down on his back and tucking the green blanket around his sides. He shifted once, turned his head toward the wall, and went still, his breathing settling into a steady, shallow rhythm.

I stood over the crib for a long moment, watching the small rise and fall of his chest. For years, my life had been measured in risk assessments, encrypted communications, and watching my back for whatever board member or stepmother-funded fixer was trying to take a piece out of me. Every room I walked into, I looked for the exits first. Every person I hired, I vetted three times over.

Looking down at Leo sleeping in a crib I built with my own hands, in a house sitting on land no one could touch, the old paranoia felt distant. It didn't disappear, I was still going to check the perimeter locks every night and keep the backup generator fueled but the weight of it was different now. I wasn't running or hiding anymore. I was building.