On the day of the doula appointment, Dante woke with his face against Finn’s belly.

He snuffled, nuzzling soft skin that smelled like his mate. Opened his eyes to find blue lines, and Finn’s stiff cock dragging through his hair.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Finn said, his voice sleep-rough. “Didn’t think I’d find you down there.”

Dante squinted. Somehow, he’d turned around on the twin bed, his thighs on the pillows, his nose rubbing Finn’s belly. It was a feat in itself—the bed was far too cramped for the two of them—on their backs, lying side-by-side, the mattress just barely fitted. Maybe he’d sat up in the night, and turned himself around.

“I’m surprised neither of us have fallen off yet,” Finn said, smiling wryly.

Dante didn’t mind if he tumbled off, himself. But the thought of Finn tumbling onto the floor... “Gods. I’m moving the bed right now.”

“You don’t have to,” Finn said, but Dante was already swinging his legs off the bed, pushing at the bed frame so it rumbled across the floorboards.

Dante didn’t stop until the bed bumped gently against the far wall, beneath the window. Then he climbed back into bed and laid himself back in the same position, kissing Finn’s belly. “Can’t believe it took me that long to do that. A month and a half!”

Finn chuckled. “You didn’t have to, you know. I won’t fall off.”

“You know you’re not winning that argument,” Dante said, nuzzling Finn’s navel. “You and the pups come first.”

Finn’s cheeks turned a faint pink. He looked down, smiling at himself.

Dante admired his omega, the fall of his auburn hair, the slender lines of his limbs. The bump of his belly, now half the size of a watermelon.

In the last two weeks, stretch marks had shown up across Finn’s abdomen, long red lines that added to the scars.

Finn winced, covering his belly with his hands. “Don’t look.”

“Your scars are fine,” Dante said, kissing Finn’s knuckles. Then he lifted Finn’s hands, kissing the stretch marks he was hiding. “You’re carrying our pups.”

Finn sighed. “I just... I want to be pretty.”

“You are pretty.”

They’d talked about this on and off. Finn liked looking nice. Maybe it was because he was omega, or maybe it was because Finn’s mom had always told him he was pretty. Maybe Finn had based his sense of worth on his looks, and old habits died hard.

“Maybe,” Finn said.

“You’re pretty inside,” Dante said.

Finn rolled his eyes. “You’re saying that with your head between my legs, Dante. Inside?”

Dante smirked. “Your insides are pretty, too,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. Finn smacked his thigh. “Ow! Hey!”

“I’d like to see you court an omega with that,” Finn muttered, biting down his smile. “Tell them ‘You have such pretty insides,’ and expect them to show it to you.”

“You showed me yours, didn’t you?”

Finn flushed. “Not because you asked to look at it!”

Dante grinned. “It’s not like I can see inside, anyway. It’s too dark.”

“With your one-eyed snake, you could.”

He had examined Finn thoroughly, too. From every angle he could manage. Dante snorted, turning himself back around on the bed, so he could share Finn’s pillow. “And you say I’m dirty.”

“Maybe I’m learning it from you.” Finn laughed. Dante kissed him on the lips.

“What time’s the appointment, again?” Dante asked, turning to look at the alarm clock.

“8:30 AM, I think? What time is it?”

“8:05,” Dante said.

“Shit,” Finn squawked, sitting up. “We’re going to be late!”

Dante swung his legs off the bed, scooping his omega into his arms. Couldn’t stop looking at the swell of Finn’s belly—it had grown so fast.

Sure, he’d seen men with round bellies here and there. Non-magic women had pregnancies that took nine months. An old fang tale said there were other species with shorter pregnancies, like dragons; those supposedly took six months.

And here Finn was, a month and a half in, his belly already stretching his shirts. Dante had gone out to the city to get a couple of shirts for himself—Finn had been appropriating them. Sometimes, Dante would come home to find Finn in his sweater, the sleeves rolled up, the shirt loosely hugging his belly.

Nothing quite howled mate, like your omega sitting in your chair, wearing your shirt, his belly round with your pups.

Dante wanted to pin Finn down, kiss him breathless, mark him inside and out with his own scent. Fill Finn with his seed.

There wasn’t time, though.

“Should get you some of your own shirts,” Dante growled, carrying Finn to the bathroom.

“They won’t smell like you,” Finn said.

That made Dante’s wolf sing.

They washed up together in the tiny bathroom, Dante eyeing the new carving of Crumpet on the shelf. As Finn pulled on his clothes, Dante strode to the kitchen, setting out some dog food for the terrier.

“Hey,” he said. “Your food’s ready. I filled your water dish, too.”

Crumpet eyed him from the armrest of the couch, twitching one furry ear. Slowly, he crept to the kitchen, sniffing warily. Then he investigated his dog food, and began crunching on it.

While a mug of water heated in the microwave, Dante pulled out a couple slices of bread. “What do you want on your sandwich?”

From the bedroom, Finn said, “I don’t know. Whatever’s in the fridge! I really don’t want Lucy to kill me, Dante. We’re so late as it is.”

“She won’t kill you,” Dante growled. “And if she does, she’ll have me to answer to.”

Finn snorted. Dante layered the slice of bread with Swiss cheese, shredded chicken, and a couple slices of tomato. Made a sandwich for himself, too, since he was waiting for Finn. Then he packed both sandwiches into a lunch box, and dropped a teabag into Finn’s mug.

“Your breakfast’s ready,” he said. “Eat it on the way.”

“Thank you, love.”

Dante’s heart skipped. Finn had taken to calling him that lately—it was something small, but every time he heard it, Dante’s world tilted on its axis.

Finn had never called him love before.

Crumpet crunched on his food in the corner of the kitchen. Dante looked at him, and resisted swinging the dog into the air, dancing him through the cabin.

Crumpet eyed Dante suspiciously.

“I’m not dancing with you,” Dante said.

“Me?” Finn asked, stopping in the doorway.

“I meant your dog.” Dante handed Finn his mug, and dropped the lunchbox into a plastic bag. When Finn had sipped some tea, Dante drank the remnants of his tea, then scooped his mate off his feet. “Crumpet, could you shut the door? Your dad’s late for his appointment.”

Finn brightened. “I’m his dad?”

“Why not?” Dante grinned. “You’ve had him for, what, three years now?”

Crumpet snuffled. With Finn in his arms, Dante jogged down the porch to the truck. Got Finn settled in the passenger seat, then turned, ready to jog back to shut the door.

The front door clicked shut.

Dante stared. Crumpet had never been agreeable before.

“He’s taking a liking to you,” Finn said, his eyes sparkling. “I told you he’d come around.”

“Maybe he’s just locking me out of the cabin,” Dante said. “Telling me to sleep in the shed, or something.”

Finn laughed. “You know I’d be right there with you.”

“Need a bigger bed, anyway,” Dante said. He started the truck, glancing at the cabin through the rearview mirror. “You know, if we end up staying in the canyon... we’d need a bigger house for the pups. A nursery and all that. And a bigger bed so we’ll have more space to fuck.”

Finn squeezed Dante’s thigh. “All about the sex, huh?”

“Want to put more pups in you,” Dante said, glancing at his omega. “While you’re still fertile.”

Finn’s smile flattened.

Dante stopped breathing. “I said something wrong?”

“I’m getting old, Dante.” Finn’s shoulders sagged. He looked down at himself, lifting his shirt. “I won’t look that great after I birth the pups. I’ll have wrinkles. My belly will sag. I won’t... I won’t look like someone you’ll want.”

Dante stared. “I’ve seen your leg, Finn. I’m still here.”

And then he winced, worrying that that had offended Finn more.

Finn cringed. “But that’s just one thing. I’ll be uglier after the birth. I mean, none of that’s supposed to matter. We’ll have pups. Everyone is happy. But I just... I won’t look the same anymore.” He smoothed his hand over his belly, his face falling. “I’ve been looking at the pictures online, people after they’ve given birth. It’s... it’s scary. I imagine myself looking like that, and I just... I don’t know.”

Dante wanted to say it didn’t matter. It really did not—he’d touched Finn’s scars, he massaged them and kissed them every night.

But every time Dante looked at the mottled skin, he remembered the jetty. He remembered shoving that wagon, remembered Finn falling into the waves. He’d made Finn suffer all these years, and now he was giving Finn another scar on his belly, something that would make Finn think worse of himself.

It was difficult enough for Finn to show Dante his leg. If Dante wore his mistakes on his skin, if there was Murderer tattooed on his forehead... He wasn’t sure he would show his face to Finn, either.

Dante steered the truck out of the driveway, mulling on Finn’s words.

He wanted to go back in time, and stop Finn’s mom from telling Finn he was pretty. So Finn would stop trying to hold himself to those standards, so Finn would learn to appreciate the parts of himself that Dante loved.

“You’re kind,” Dante said. “You’re strong. And you’re clever. There’s other parts of you to love, Finn. Not just what you look like.”

Finn sighed. “Don’t forget all the times I hurt my leg.”

There was that, too.

“I hate my leg,” Finn mumbled. “It’s just... one thing after another. It never stops hurting.”

Dante had caused that, too.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Finn said. “It’s just... difficult to reconcile that with myself. It’s like you looking at yourself in the mirror, and you’re missing, say... your cock.”

Dante winced.

He reached over the center console, squeezing Finn’s thigh. Drove them slowly through the winding canyon, wondering what he’d do when Finn birthed their pups. Whether Finn would spiral because of the toll the pregnancy took on him. Whether the two of them could work out, scarred as they were.

He had the blood of innocents on his hands. Finn had his doubts about himself.

But maybe their jagged edges would match, and maybe they could form a whole.

“I’ll love you enough for us both,” Dante said, driving down the sun-dappled road. “I don’t care if you’re old, or if you have scars, or whatever. And our pups won’t care, either. You’ll just be Dad to them.”

Finn looked over, his bottom lip trembling. He tipped his head back against the seat and blinked hard. “Oh.”

“And you’re still my omega,” Dante said. “No one else I’d mate with but you.”

Finn gave a wobbly smile. “Even with all my scars? Saggy belly and stretch marks?”

“Even then,” Dante said. “I’ll prove it to you.”

Finn chuckled. “You just want the sex.”

Dante rolled his eyes. “Eat your breakfast. We’re almost there.”

He watched from the corner of his eye as Finn dug into his sandwich, chewing slowly. Then Finn finished the sandwich, eyeing the one Dante had made for himself.

“Eat that too, if you want.”

“But it’s yours,” Finn said.

Dante shrugged. “What’s mine is also yours. I’ll make another when we get home.”

Finn nibbled on the second sandwich, taking a larger bite when Dante parked. Then he wolfed it down, and Dante grinned.

“It’s going to the pups too, anyway,” Dante said, leaning over the console to breathe his omega in. “I don’t mind.”

Finn smiled. Dante caught his lips. Tasted bread and chicken, and beneath that, the mint of Finn’s toothpaste. Finn purred, winding his fingers into Dante’s hair. Dante slid his hand down Finn’s chest, finding the swell of his belly. Their pups were growing—they were so much bigger now than they were before.

“Mine,” Dante whispered against Finn’s lips, kissing down Finn’s throat. Finn smiled and leaned into him, and Dante lost himself in his omega.

When they broke apart, they found Lucy standing on her doorstep, a frown on her face. Finn quailed. “Oh, no.”

Lucy was a tall omega, with graying hair and stern eyes. She’d folded her arms across her chest, and was tapping her foot as she waited. This was the person who had sold the wolfsbane to Finn’s mother.

The sight of her made Dante want to growl, grab her shoulders and ask, What the hell is wrong with you?

He bit it back. Prior to this, he’d suggested going to a midwife outside the pack. Finn had said to give Lucy a visit. If anything, it would strengthen the foundations they had with the pack. Maybe they’d gain an ally.

A month ago, Dante would’ve said, I’d rather move out.

Now, though, with visits to Old Bill, with the check-ins that Finn’s brothers did on them, Dante had begun to develop a fondness for some of Finn’s pack. He liked visiting with Bill, learning to read the beehives. Just last week, the three of them had made blueberry preserves, and Bill had smiled so wide his eyes crinkled.

Finn’s brothers had almost developed a camaraderie with Dante. They’d relaxed slightly around him, watching the way he behaved. Slowly, Dante was learning to trust them, too. They wanted the best for Finn. Dante could get behind that.

So Dante set aside his reservations about Lucy. Maybe she would redeem herself. Maybe she would come to accept Dante, like Finn’s brothers had.

He stepped out of the truck, jogging around the hood to open the passenger door. Handed Finn his cane, and helped him out.

“I can walk, you know,” Finn said.

“I’m helping you anyway,” Dante said. “Not gonna stand around like a jerk.”

Lucy lived on the far side of the canyon, in a two-story house with large windows and a landscaped garden. Short lavender hedges led up to the wide wooden door, and a fountain tinkled to the side. It was quiet here—no children’s shouts, no traffic noise.

They strode up to where she stood, Dante with his head held high, Finn looking sheepish.

“I’m sorry,” Finn said. “We really didn’t mean to be late.”

Lucy surveyed them sternly, then nodded at the door. “We’ll head in.”

Dante’s senses prickled when he stepped through the doorway. He expected pack wolves to leap out at them, maybe syringes of poison waiting for Finn. Or maybe Lucy would offer them tea, and it would be laced with wolfsbane.

The living room was bright and airy, a set of maroon velvet settees arranged around a polished walnut table. Gauzy white drapes fluttered by the French windows, allowing the breeze to rustle the plants in the corners.

“We’ll head into the exam room,” Lucy said, nodding to the side.

They crossed the marbled floors to an open set of doors. Past that was an open office with an exam bed, a sprawling wooden desk, and another set of French windows.

It looked nothing like the shadowy shaman tent Dante had been expecting.

“You’re an actual doctor?” he blurted.

Lucy gave him a withering look. “Did Finn not inform you?”

Finn flushed. “I, uh, I guess I forgot to. Sorry.”

Dante stared at the medicine cabinets, the cross-sectional diagrams of pregnant omegas on the wall. Couldn’t help thinking about the night of the voting, Finn’s mom feeding him poison. “If you’re a legit doctor, then why’d you sell Finn’s mom the wolfsbane?”

Lucy sat behind her desk, frowning over her glasses. “Florence made a convincing argument that her son was in danger. She said ridding the pups will take your attention off Finn.”

“You’d help kill our pups, just because?” Dante asked, incredulous.

“All I know about you is that you’ve killed,” Lucy said sharply. “It was either I terminate the pups and hence your connection to Finn, thereby saving him, or letting the pups live, and you would keep him and kill him at some point.”

Dante was about to say he wouldn’t. But he remembered the runaway clamp in Finn’s workshop, his wolf taking control. What if he hurt Finn again, no matter how accidentally?

You won’t, Finn said in his mind. I believe in you.

Dante remembered fresh blood dripping off his hands, and stayed silent.

“The pups are wanted,” Finn said to Lucy. “I wish you’d talked to me about them first.”

Lucy dipped her chin. “I see that now. My apologies.”

If the wolfsbane had worked, what use would her apologies be? Even if Dante apologized to the families of those he’d killed, it wouldn’t return the lives lost.

A wave of disgust rose through Dante’s chest. Couldn’t stop seeing the claws at his fingertips, the streaks of someone’s life dripping off his skin. There had been a child. There had been a mother, and a baby, and so many damn people with all their families.

It wasn’t Finn who deserved disgust—it was Dante.

Don’t think about that, Finn said, but Dante didn’t hear him.

“Have a seat.” Lucy waved toward the chairs on the other side of her desk. “Are you here for the regular exam?”

Finn grimaced. “I’d like to know if the... if my scars will affect the birth.”

He pulled up his shirt, showing Lucy the red scars on his belly. Lucy pressed her mouth into a thin line. Dante closed his eyes, but he saw them anyway, the whorls of ruined flesh across Finn’s abdomen, from when the corals had dug into soft skin, and ripped it open.

How was it so difficult to create a life, and yet so easy to destroy one?

“How deep did the injury go?” Lucy asked.

Finn bit his lip. “Not quite as deep as... as the ones on my leg.”

“Lie down on the exam bed,” Lucy said. “We’ll do an exam, then an ultrasound.”

Dante watched as Finn limped over to the bed, heaving himself up onto the paper-lined mattress. Then he lifted his shirt again, exposing the swell of his belly.

Stiffly, Dante stepped over to him, slipping his hand into Finn’s. He looked at the dark red stretch marks, the scars. They looked like blood.

For a brief moment, Dante imagined it really was blood on his omega. His stomach shriveled. Seems like all I do is hurt you.

Finn squeezed his hand. You don’t.

Dante brought Finn’s hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. Felt like he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be ruining Finn’s life, and his relationship with his pack. I’m still too damn young and stupid.

You aren’t stupid, Finn told him.

Dante breathed out, stepping back so Lucy could set up the ultrasound equipment. Couldn’t help remembering his father’s words, back when he was still a pup living under his father’s roof. You aren’t gonna amount to anything when you grow up, Dad had said. Waste of space. I wish your mother had lived instead of you.

Yeah, maybe his mom should’ve. She’d been kind and warm, always smiling. She’d taught Dante the alphabet, and she’d kissed his scrapes when he’d fallen down.

Maybe that was why Dante liked Finn, because Finn reminded him of his mom.

If she’d lived and Dante hadn’t, those people wouldn’t have been killed. Their families wouldn’t have been destroyed. And maybe Finn wouldn’t have all the scars he did now.

Don’t think that, Finn said. You’re worth all those lives to me.

His chest heavy, Dante met Finn’s eyes. You’d kill for me?

Finn nodded. Dante cheered up a little. Maybe they were both twisted. Maybe that was okay.

Lucy pressed a stethoscope to Finn’s belly, listening. Then she touched his scar tissue with her fingertips, pushing down gently. “Does it hurt?”

“Faintly.”

Dante watched as Lucy examined Finn’s belly, before squeezing a dollop of gel closer to his waistband. She spread it around with the ultrasound probe, then looked at the screen.

“The scars don’t show up clearly on the probe, but from the physical exam, they don’t seem very deep,” she said. “If you haven’t been experiencing pain the past six weeks, it’s very likely that your uterine walls were not damaged.”

“I haven’t,” Finn said. Dante breathed a sigh, his shoulders relaxing. Maybe the pregnancy would go okay, after all.

Lucy tapped on the keyboard attached to the ultrasound screen, moving the probe around. All Dante saw on the screen was a mess of white-and-black speckles—couldn’t count how many pups there were, or tell where one began, and another ended.

“Everything’s looking good on the ultrasound,” Lucy said. “Would you like to know how many pups you’re carrying?”

Dante’s heart leaped. He met Finn’s eyes, felt the flutter of Finn’s excitement.

“We could use the pack method,” Finn said. “Instead of finding out from the ultrasound. That way, it’ll still be a surprise.”

“Pack method?” Dante asked. He’d been reading up on wolf pregnancies and births, but nothing on counting their pups. What else did he have to learn?

With a damp towel, Lucy wiped the gel off Finn’s belly. “Put your hands on Finn’s abdomen,” she said to Dante. “And close your eyes.”

Finn sat up on the exam bed, parting his legs so Dante could stand between them. Then he linked their fingers together, and pressed Dante’s hands against his belly.

As Dante closed his eyes, Lucy said, “When you kiss, listen to Finn’s wolf. It’ll tell you about your pups.”

It seemed like a stretch, but Dante found Finn’s lips with ease, falling into his soft, damp sweetness. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, felt Finn’s warm breath first, then the thrum of Finn’s body against his.

Past the quiet of the room and the rustling canopy outside, Finn’s wolf howled in Dante’s chest. Dante jolted, surprised. Finn squeezed his hands, holding him close.

Then they were back in the shadowy forest in his mind. He loped alongside his mate through the oaks and undergrowth, leaping over ditches and roots. They ran, tails tangling, Finn smiling beside him, until they arrived at a lake.

The full moon hung low in the sky. At the water’s edge, there was a nest of pups, tiny snouts and ears and paws, snuggled together, their eyes closed.

Ours, Finn said. He nuzzled the pups, all three of them, and settled himself around the little ones, keeping them warm with his own body. Dante nuzzled Finn’s jaw, his heart too full for words.

Finn dragged his lips against Dante’s, pulling away. When Dante opened his eyes, he found Finn awash in the bright sunlight of the office, his periwinkle eyes sparkling, his lips kiss-swollen. “You saw them?” Finn murmured.

“There’s three,” Dante said, looking down at Finn’s exposed belly. And now it seemed like maybe there wasn’t enough space for three pups in there. “That’s... that’s a lot.”

“How many did you think there were?” Finn asked, still smiling.

“I don’t know. Two? You said ‘pups’, but gods, three is a lot.”

Dante thought about feeding three more mouths, and quailed. He wasn’t working enough. He had to get more jobs, earn more money to support his family.

“We’ll be fine,” Finn whispered, squeezing Dante’s hip. “Don’t worry.”

Dante pressed his forehead against his omega’s, breathing him in. Three pups. Seemed insane, that he could touch Finn, kiss him, and know how many pups there were in his belly. Other species couldn’t do that.

“Keep in mind that is just an estimate,” Lucy said to the side.

Dante nearly jumped; he’d all but forgotten she was there. Then her words sank in, and Dante froze. “What if there’s four?”

He was twenty-five. He didn’t quite have a proper job, and in six weeks, he had maybe four pups to feed.

Panic slid ice-cold through his gut; his palms sweated. So maybe he hadn’t thought this family thing through.

“You aren’t leaving, are you?” Finn cracked a smile.

“Hell no,” Dante said. “But merciful gods. Four pups?”

“It’ll be okay,” Finn said, squeezing his hand. “We’ll be fine.”

But he didn’t look certain. If Finn was older and wiser, and even he didn’t know... Dante looked at Lucy, vaguely surprised that she didn’t seem quite as stern.

“I was... I was wondering if you have some kind of health potion for Finn,” Dante said. “Just so the pups turn out healthy.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows, reaching into a cabinet. The vial she set on the desk was palm-sized, filled with a honey-colored liquid. “Two teaspoonfuls twice a day—this contains lotus seeds and red jujubes. Dried longans for good sight, persimmons for healthy blood flow. Wolfberries for shifting easily during pregnancy.”

Dante stared at the vial. It sounded like an expensive potion. And a clinic like Lucy’s, with all the wide open windows and no crowd waiting in line...

“How much is the visit?” Dante asked, reaching for his wallet. He probably had to pay extra and work another full week, maybe stay later into the night to repair more furniture. Maybe he’d make more things they could sell at Market Day.

“I’ll handle it,” Finn said, touching Dante’s hand.

Lucy handed the vial to Finn. “It’s yours. I won’t be charging you for the visit.”

They stared at her, Dante frowning in disbelief. “No? But you just... you made Finn’s mom pay a bunch for the wolfsbane.”

Lucy smiled then, a tiny curve of her lips. “That was to end multiple lives, not help birth one. Besides, I owe you an apology.”

Dante blinked, slipping his hand into Finn’s. Was an odd feeling, hearing that from her. He’d come prepared to hate Lucy. But looking at the ultrasound screen, the potion bottle in Finn’s hand... “Can we trust the potion?”

“I swear it on all my paws,” Lucy said. Then she shrugged, her smile growing. “I was surprised by you and Finn. I thought... you might be a little more murderous.”

“Dante is fiercely loyal,” Finn said, leaning into Dante. “Perhaps to a fault.”

“I don’t hear you complaining about it,” Dante muttered.

“Perhaps I should have judged first with my own eyes,” Lucy said. She led the way to the front door, holding it open. “Perhaps all of us were wrong about you, Dante of the Weregrits.”

Dante bowed his head. “Thanks for seeing Finn. We really appreciate it.”

Lucy smiled, and Dante helped Finn back into the truck. Got him seated in the passenger seat, kissing him. As Lucy returned to her home and Finn clicked the seatbelt in place, Dante leaned in, tracing his fingertips over Finn’s belly.

“You keep saying things will turn out okay,” Dante said quietly, burying his nose in Finn’s hair. “Are you really sure about that?”

Finn sighed, touching Dante’s chest. “No, I’m not.”

All the visit had done was reassure them that the pups would be okay. But it hadn’t changed Finn or Dante, hadn’t turned them into better people. Sometimes, Dante woke up in the middle of the night, jolted awake by the sight of blood, of lifeless bodies and dull prison bars.

He slipped his fingers into Finn’s hair, kissed the blue lines on Finn’s forehead.

“You’re loyal,” Finn murmured. “I suspect it means that, once you see the pack as your family, it means you won’t hurt any of them.”

But would the pack ever welcome Dante? Could he convince his wolf to accept them?

What if Dante’s wolf misstepped, and he put Finn and their pups in danger? What if Finn died at his hands, like what Dante thought had happened the very first time?

“It’ll be okay,” Finn said.

Dante wasn’t sure things would continue to go okay. But as they began the drive home, leaving Lucy’s beautiful home behind them, Dante understood that the only thing they could do... was to forge ahead.