Chapter 32 · Two Heartbeats, Five Years

Dr. Okafor called that week for the boys' five-year checkup—wolf-healer protocol, human pediatrician backup. Twins strong, she said. Stress low. Zaia almost laughed. Stress low was a policy they'd written in Saturdays.

Leo Blackwood counted heartbeats the way other children counted stars—quietly, seriously, as if the numbers might matter.

"One, two," he whispered, palm flat on Milo's chest in the nursery they still shared on weekends at the Millbrook house. "See? Yours is faster."

Milo squirmed. "Because I'm running in place."

"You are not running in place. You're lying down."

"I'm running in my brain."

Zaia paused in the doorway with two mugs of cocoa and felt the old ultrasound photo in her desk drawer echo through her ribs—two galaxies, two rhythms, one belly. Five years since coronation. Four and five since the boys had learned to say *team* before they learned to say *sorry.*

Saturday morning. Sebastian's day. Also hers. Also theirs.

"Daddy's coming," Milo announced, as if Zaia didn't know. "He promised pancakes and the park."

"He promised pancakes," Leo corrected. "You added the park."

"You always add the park.