The seventh full moon since the twins' birth rose clear and white, high above the pines. The night air was still, the kind that made sound travel far and moonlight spill like milk across the clearing.
Tristan had always loved this kind of night—quiet, luminous, gentle. But tonight, the silence felt charged.
"They're restless," Shannon said quietly, watching from the window. Riven and Lyra were wide awake, sitting upright in their shared cradle, eyes fixed on the window as though waiting for something unseen.
Tristan smiled faintly. "They know the Moon's out."
Eira, who had refused to sleep until she made sure the twins were settled, crossed her arms. "They've been humming since sundown. Humming, Tristan. Six-month-olds don't hum in tune."
"They're advanced," Marla said proudly from the kitchen, chewing on a biscuit. "Moon-blessed and musically gifted. You can't complain."
"I can if it keeps me from sleeping," Eira muttered.
