The house was quiet in the way it only ever was at night.
Not empty.
Just still.
The kind of stillness that made every small sound feel louder—the distant tick of a clock, the soft shift of fabric, the occasional creak of the building settling.
Zarek was asleep upstairs.
Leah had checked on him twice already.
Izana sat at the edge of the bed, one hand resting loosely against his knee, the other still holding a folded document he wasn't reading anymore.
Leah stood near the window.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Leah finally broke the silence.
"…We should talk about what he said."
Izana didn't look up.
"Baby sister."
Leah nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then Izana added quietly:
"He's been repeating it."
Leah turned slightly.
"I know."
Silence settled again.
This time it felt heavier.
Leah walked over and sat beside him on the bed.
Izana didn't move away.
That alone said more than anything else.
Leah looked down at her hands.
"He wasn't just saying it," she said softly.
"He meant it."
Izana's gaze shifted slightly.
"He means a lot of things."
Leah gave a faint smile.
"Yes… but this one stuck."
A pause.
Then, more quietly:
"I've been thinking about it too."
Izana finally looked at her.
Not surprised.
Just attentive.
"…So have I."
That made Leah glance up.
"You have?"
Izana's voice was steady.
"Yes."
A beat.
Leah studied him carefully.
"You didn't say anything."
"I didn't need to."
Leah exhaled softly, almost amused.
"That sounds like you."
Izana leaned back slightly against the bedframe.
"We already have one child."
Leah nodded.
"Yes."
A pause.
Izana continued:
"And he's not a simple child to raise."
Leah laughed under her breath.
"No argument there."
Izana looked at her.
"But that isn't a reason against it."
Leah blinked slightly.
"…It isn't?"
Izana's tone remained calm.
"No."
That was all.
Simple.
Certain.
Leah stared at him for a moment.
Then softly:
"So you're saying you want it too."
Izana didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
That single word made the air shift slightly.
Leah's expression softened.
"…I didn't expect you to say it so easily."
Izana glanced down.
"It isn't easy."
A pause.
Then:
"It's just decided differently."
Leah leaned back against the bed.
"…That sounds like you."
For a while, they sat in silence again.
Not uncomfortable.
Just full.
Then Leah spoke again.
"If we do this…"
Izana looked at her.
"We plan it properly."
Leah raised an eyebrow.
"…Of course you'd say that."
Izana continued:
"Stability. Timing. Zarek's adjustment."
Leah sighed, half-laughing.
"It's not a mission, Iz."
Izana answered without missing a beat:
"Everything is a mission."
Leah shook her head, smiling.
"That's exactly what I was afraid you'd say."
But there was no real complaint in her voice.
Only familiarity.
Leah's expression softened again.
"I just… don't want Zarek to feel like he's being replaced."
Izana's response was immediate.
"He won't."
Leah looked at him.
Izana continued, more quietly:
"He attaches. He doesn't replace."
Leah nodded slowly.
"That's true."
A pause.
Then Izana added:
"And he already asked for it."
Leah smiled faintly.
"Very persistently."
Izana's gaze drifted slightly.
"…He's decided it already."
Leah laughed softly.
"That he has."
Silence settled again—but this time it felt different.
Not uncertain.
More like a door slightly opened.
Leah hesitated, then spoke again.
"If it's a girl…"
Izana already knew what she meant.
"…Elara."
Leah nodded.
The name hung in the air for a moment.
Not heavy.
Just… present.
Leah looked at him.
"You still think about it."
Izana didn't deny it.
"Yes."
Leah's voice softened.
"We never used it."
Izana replied calmly:
"No."
A pause.
Then Leah added carefully:
"We could."
That made Izana still slightly.
Not visibly shaken.
Just paused.
Like a thought had landed somewhere deeper than expected.
He didn't answer immediately.
And Leah didn't push.
From upstairs, faintly, a small sound came through the baby monitor.
A shift.
A breath.
Then silence again.
Izana stood first.
Leah followed.
They checked on Zarek together.
He was still asleep.
Curled slightly on his side.
One arm tucked under his cheek.
Completely unaware of the conversation that had been shaping around him.
Leah smiled faintly.
"He's going to be so dramatic when he finds out he's getting a sibling."
Izana replied:
"He'll adjust."
Leah glanced at him.
"You say that about everything."
"It's usually correct."
Leah gave him a look.
"…That confidence worries me sometimes."
Izana didn't respond.
But his eyes stayed on Zarek a little longer than usual.
Back in their bedroom, the silence felt different now.
More decided.
Less uncertain.
Leah sat down again, this time more relaxed.
"So," she said softly, "we're actually considering it."
Izana nodded once.
"Yes."
Leah tilted her head slightly.
"That sounded more definite than 'considering.'"
Izana answered:
"It is considering with intent."
Leah laughed quietly.
"That's your version of romance, isn't it?"
Izana looked at her.
"…It works."
Leah leaned back, smiling.
"I suppose it does."
A pause.
Then, softer:
"We won't tell him yet."
Izana agreed immediately.
"No."
Leah continued:
"He'll turn it into a schedule."
Izana replied:
"He already has."
Leah laughed under her breath.
"Of course he has."
Then she grew quiet again.
Her expression softened.
"I don't want to rush it."
Izana's voice was steady.
"We won't."
Leah looked at him.
"You're surprisingly okay with this."
Izana paused briefly.
Then answered honestly:
"I already was."
That made Leah quiet for a moment.
Then she smiled gently.
"…So was I."
A long silence followed.
Not awkward.
Just full of understanding.
Finally, Leah leaned her head lightly against his shoulder.
Izana didn't move away.
Instead, his hand shifted slightly—resting beside hers.
Not gripping.
Just there.
Present.
Leah spoke quietly:
"If this happens…"
Izana finished the thought calmly:
"Then we raise them properly."
Leah smiled.
"That's your solution for everything."
Izana replied:
"It works."
And for once—
Leah didn't argue.
Outside the room, the house remained still.
But inside it, something had quietly shifted.
Not decided yet.
Not complete.
But no longer just a thought.
Something that both of them had begun to accept as part of tomorrow.