-Will-

My husband broke the silence with two quiet words: "I'm sorry."

"For almost getting yourself arrested, or for not giving me a heads up?"

If the situation hadn't been so serious, Nico's guilty expression would've melted my heart. (For someone who could reanimate corpses and banish demons, he could be pretty damn adorable.) But my stomach was roiling, and I had so many questions that my head felt like one of Celia's animals: full of stuffing that needed to be sifted through.

"I was going to call you, but I fell asleep," Nico explained sheepishly. When I raised my eyebrows, he admitted, "I must be out of practice with shadow traveling like that."

My priorities shifted as alarm bells sounded in my head. "What do you mean, 'like that'? How many times?"

He shrugged like it didn't matter, but he wouldn't look at me. "Three."

"In a row?"

"Within a couple minutes, but they were short ones."

"With passengers?"

Again, Nico just shrugged. I stepped closer and put my hand on his forehead, and he put on another adorable expression: a disgruntled pout. "You don't need to-"

"Shut it, Death Boy," I cut him off, focusing on the subtle indicators that my powers were giving me. I might as well be a walking diagnostic machine for how intuitively I'm able to detect abnormalities in people's vital signs. It happens whenever I touch someone, whether I want it to or not. In combination with my abysmal lying skills, the ability can make for some awkward situations - especially in cases when the person isn't aware of their own condition. (Sorry, Annabeth.)

With Nico, I'd learned to be more precise. So I scanned him for the usual signs of overexertion: slowed heart rate, fatigue, shakiness, and dramatic temperature shifts. In severe cases, his skin would feel like ice, and I would sense the shadows creeping below the surface, trying to pull him out of the physical plane. But Nico hadn't pushed himself that hard in years - not since he hauled two people and a giant statue halfway across the world.

I didn't sense anything too alarming, but his forehead felt clammy, and so did his hand a minute ago. "You're cold," I told him, frowning.

"Oh, no," he gasped in mock-horror, which earned him one of my best glares. "Three short jumps isn't enough to kill me," he informed me flatly. "I've done way worse than that when I was younger." His stubborn scowl wavered as the words fell out of his mouth, like he knew he'd cited the wrong source.

"Ah, see, you just lost your arguing rights," I said firmly. "Never bring up what you used to do to yourself. Gods, it makes me angry just thinking about it..." As I shook my head and grumbled under my breath, Nico wisely pursed his lips. Composing myself, I held his fingers up to the light and continued, "Are you sure you're okay? No fading issues? Nausea? Dizziness?"

Nico gently tugged his hand away with a sarcastic quip: "I'm fine, Mother."

Coming from him, that phrase meant next to nothing. He could be melting into a puddle of darkness or bleeding out from a stab wound, and he'd probably still say he's fine. I gave him a once-over, just in case I missed anything obvious. He didn't seem injured, and his behaviors seemed normal enough.

"Will, seriously. I just needed a nap," he assured me. "I'm good now."

"Would you tell me if you weren't?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, because you'd know if I was lying. You're a healer, and your dad's the god of truth."

I supposed that answer was satisfactory. I crossed my arms and observed him again, this time just to sort out my thoughts. Nico seemed to sense where the subject was going, because he stiffened like he was bracing for a lecture. But when he read my face, his discomfort faded into uncertainty. Before I could figure out where to start, he mentioned in a conversational way, "You haven't called me Death Boy in a while."

"Because you haven't earned it," I shot back in the same even tone.

"But I didn't almost die," he pointed out. "I barely used my powers."

"Mmhmm."

"Hellhounds are easy for me. They didn't even touch me."

"I know."

Nico titled his head and furrowed his brows. "I can't tell if you're mad at me or not," he admitted. When I didn't answer right away, he added in a hopeful voice, "You don't seem that upset." Then his expression sank, and he said, "Wait. Are you in crisis mode?" I gave him a confused look, and he clarified, "Are you as calm as you look? Or are you freaking out on the inside?"

I exhaled slowly to soothe the drum in my chest. "A little of both, I guess. Part of me is definitely freaking out. But you know I love kids."

Something like fear flashed in Nico's eyes. He gazed uneasily at the door to our bedroom - where the kid was sleeping, I assumed. "I didn't mean..." He started saying, before he stopped and shook his head. "Gods, I don't know. I was just doing what I thought would be best for him. But that augury was...a lot."

Silently, I considered the situation we were in. Celia's words rang in my ears: The boy stays with you. Your futures are connected. Keep an eye on him. That all sounded pretty permanent to me. Judging by the way Nico was frowning at the door, he'd reached the same conclusion. I watched him curiously, analyzing his reaction.

Nico had a complicated view on the topic of children. He wasn't against adoption. He enjoyed teaching the campers, he'd secretly grown fond of Roxana Valdez's endless antics, and he was turning out to be a really sweet uncle to Hazel's little girl. But, from what I gathered, he's genuinely afraid that a child who's not biologically related to him would never see him as a comforting or loving presence, thanks to his powers.

In my eyes, that's total crap. I'd insisted that his own kid wouldn't turn on him because of his powers, biological or not. But he couldn't seem to take my word for it. I guess I understand why. In terms of abilities, Nico and I are polar opposites. People tend to treat me better when they learn about my parentage, and the kids I work with love me. Sure, people poke fun at Apollo kids, but it's never much past the stereotypes of us being airheaded, conceited, and overly competitive. That's nothing near some of the awful whispers I've heard about children of Hades or Pluto. Even Octavian was an angel compared to some of Nico's famous siblings.

So, after we'd settled down in New Rome, I'd decided not to press the issue of children for a while, since neither of us had room in our schedules anyway. But that was four years ago, long before our friends started their families. Recently, I'd tried testing the waters again, only to hit the same roadblock. So I've been gingerly chipping away at it, all the while wondering if someday a god or goddess might drop a kid on our doorstep like Hephaestus did to Leo.

Maybe today is that day. Maybe this kid is meant to be ours.

When I noticed the warring emotions on Nico's face, something twisted inside me. Acting on impulse, I took his hands in mine. Nico tensed and searched my face like he was looking for something to calm his high heart rate. Despite the equally rapid thumping in my chest, a feeling of peace had settled over me, like a soothing balm in the air. But I still saw fear in those pretty eyes.

"Are you okay?"

Nico huffed a laugh, like that question didn't even begin to cover it. As he drank me in, some of the anxiety left him, and he answered softly, "As long as I have you."

I smiled and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Always."

"You aren't mad at me?" He checked.

"Nah. I probably would've done the same thing - minus the not-calling-me part."

Nico sighed and glanced at the bedroom door again. "I don't know. Was it the right thing to do? All that stuff Celia was saying about kidnapping..."

"Celia can go eat a stuffed rhino," I snapped, and Nico blinked at me. Squeezing his hands, I went on firmly, "You're a lot of things, love, but you're not a kidnapper. Era cavolata."

Nico's eyes gleamed as he bit back a smile. "That was Italian."

"Yep. Did you know I speak it? Apparently my dad's a big fan of the arts or something."

My cheeky response was rewarded with an eye roll and a grin. "You haven't spoken Italian in a while - and I've never heard you insult Celia. But why the language switch?"

"Because it's fun," I answered simply. Then, taking a chance, I told him the real reason: "Also, we'll have to get creative if we're adopting a seven-year-old."

Nico's smile vanished. "I don't know about that," he murmured after a moment. The unease in his tone hit me like a ton of bricks. I was fully expecting him to bring up all of his usual arguments against having kids, so I was stunned when he finished in a grim tone, "He might understand Italian." My heart jumped into my throat, and a warm tingly feeling radiated from my gut. I cracked a big grin before I could stop myself. Nico seemed confused by my reaction. "What?"

"Nothing. I just love you."

My husband smiled like my joy was contagious. "You're so weird," he told me as he leaned into me and I wrapped my arms around him.

"That's not the right answer."

A breath of laughter twitched his shoulders. As we held each other, Nico seemed to guess where my thoughts had gone, because he mumbled into my shirt, "We didn't even ask him what he wants yet."

"Una cosa alla volta, Stellino," I told him serenely. "One thing at a time."