The rain over Seattle didn’t fall so much as it drowned the city, sweeping off Puget Sound in icy sheets that rattled the glass windows of the emergency transport van.

August, 2027.

The morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master suite at the Orcas Island estate.

I lay in the center of the massive bed, wrapped in soft white linen sheets, watching the gentle rise and fall of the ocean waves through the glass.

Beside me, Damian lay fast asleep, his face relaxed, stripped of all the terrifying tension that had defined his life for thirty years. One of his massive hands rested possessively over my bare hip, anchoring me to him even in his sleep.

A tiny, pattering sound echoed from the hardwood hallway outside the bedroom door.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

The heavy oak door swung open six inches.

A little girl with dark, wavy hair, huge hazel eyes, wearing pink bunny pajamas, stumbled into the room on unsteady, eager feet.

Maya.

She was one and a half years old now—a tiny, energetic force of nature who ruled the estate with an iron fist and a bright, infectious smile.

She tottered across the floor, holding a small, crumpled piece of paper in her tiny hand. She reached the side of the bed, pulled herself up using the duvet, and slapped the paper directly onto Damian’s nose.

"Dada!" Maya squeaked happily. "Dada! Look!"

Damian’s eyes snapped open instantly. The former ruler of Seattle’s underworld didn't reach for a gun or tense up in defense. He simply let out a warm, low rumble of laughter, grabbing Maya by her waist and lifting her up onto his chest, tickling her stomach until she shrieked with joy.

"What do we have here, little monster?" Damian asked, holding the crumpled paper above his face.

I sat up, leaning against his shoulder, looking at the paper.

It was a crayon drawing.

In bright yellow, red, and blue wax, Maya had drawn three figures standing in front of a giant house under a massive sun. A big figure with dark hair, a smaller figure with long brown hair, and a tiny figure holding a tiny pink ball between them.

At the bottom, in messy, uneven letters that Victoria had helped her practice for three weeks, was written one single word:

FAMILY.

Damian stared at the drawing for a long, silent moment. His eyes grew glisteningly bright, a deep, overwhelming emotion washing over his carved features.

He looked up from the drawing, looking at Maya, who was beaming with immense pride, and then at me.

"It's perfect," Damian whispered, his voice cracking with pure happiness.

He reached out, pulling me close until all three of us were wrapped in one tight, unbreakable embrace in the morning sun.

The dark past, the poison, the cages, and the fear were gone forever.