Lifting it.
Carrying it.
Akane went still.
Her breath stopped for a full two seconds.
Because this—this exact sensation, the hands bearing the weight that her back had been carrying for months, the specific relief of having someone else hold what she'd been holding alone—'this' undid more of her in one second than anything else could have.
Her eyes, which had been golden and sharp and composed, filled.
"Our child," Tianlong said, his palms warm against the taut skin. "Seems healthy."
Akane made a sound.
A small, wrecked sound that she would absolutely deny later. Her hands came down over his, pressing them closer against the belly, and her forehead dropped forward. Her nine tails drew inward, wrapping forward around them both like a cocoon.
"He is," she said. Barely audible. "He is healthy."
