Diana turned her gaze back to the window, her silhouette once again merging with the dark glass. She said nothing, but the tilt of her head and the stillness of her posture were her own silent echoes of Lily's vow.
It was the Diana version of the same sentence, a tactical, unwavering confirmation of presence.
Rex looked at them both. He didn't offer a smile, nor did he offer a sentimental reply.
Instead, he wore the expression he reserved for the moments when he was truly receiving something, not performing a role or managing a crisis, but simply accepting a truth. It was a flat, profound acknowledgment; the look of a man who knew the exact, staggering value of having two pillars of strength standing in the wake of his storm.
He stepped toward them, his presence filling the space between the sofa and the center of the room, heavy and undeniable. He didn't move like a man seeking comfort; he moved like a man claiming what was his.
