resilience

NOAH

Marcus did not stir against the Resurrected Sword. Instead, he seemed to nuzzle closer in to the warmth provided for him despite being comfortably swaddled. A faint snore buzzed with each of the infant's quick breaths, and Noah smiled at Deimos. I think he likes you. He reassured his friend, his brother in arms, the man who had fought tooth and nail at his side and destroyed the threat of the Voice in this world. Here they were now, together, holding tiny, cooing babies.

Margot stirred after only finding comfort in her father's arms for a moment. Her nose wrinkled and her mouth opened. She rooted around on his henley shirt for a moment before she let her demand be heard. Food her cry echoed. It bounced and reverberated off the walls and crashed against the glass, frost-covered windows. Noah sucked in a breath and stood, bouncing and comforting and shushing his daughter.

He moved her from his chest to the crook of his elbow and offered the only thing he could, a makeshift pacifier in the form of his pinky. His daughter latched on, and there was a moment of helplessness as he looked back to Deimos, expecting to see a similar panic. Cordelia will be home soon. He knew that if she were anywhere close to hear that scream, that demand, she would come running.

I'll follow you down through the eye of the storm

Don't worry I'll keep you warm