In Elkins, the early February weather resembled early May, yet the light still bore the qualities of winter. The flowers on the tree outside the bedroom window created an eerie contrast with the feeble sun. It made Grace feel chilly for no apparent reason, but her sweet, scented, soft skin, nestled against his in search of warmth under the blankets, was delightful. Rowan caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I love you.”

  “Sometimes, I want to strangle you,” Grace said, throwing her calf around his legs and gluing herself to him. That sort of touch he could enjoy day and night. “Going for a marathon like that?” she snapped her fingers.

  “I did take a break from all the fighting and questing afterward, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” she fondled his hair. “Nevertheless, tomorrow you’ll go back to work, so… maybe you need to invest some time to get in touch with the news. Speak with Dmitri about your father.”

  “What about my father?”

  “Talk with Dmitri. I have more pressing matters to tell you.” Searching for his chin, Grace pulled it, so he looked into her eyes. “Cora’s going into mating season soon and wants to have a baby with you. She thinks you know and want it, too, and asked Isla and me if we want to have babies simultaneously so we can raise them together. Isla is quite smitten with the idea.”

  “Gaaaaah…”

  “Close your mouth, and don’t you dare faint on me. Take it like a man. Now, you'll learn to truly listen to us when we speak with you.

  "But I did listen," he complained. "It was just a generic conversation. Cora asked about it, and I said I'd love to have kids with her. I didn't imagine she meant now."

  "Was it listening, or were you just sipping your favorite Bourbon and saying yes, dear, yes dear, thinking about proof and chill filtering?"

  “You mean non-chill filtering.” He sighed and looked into nothingness for a second. "Look… The fact is, I'm OK with it, really. I like kids. But what got her to want it now? She's barely over twenty."

  "Ask her, not me," Grace shrugged. "From what I got, she wants to get it done now, while young, to have time later for a Ph.D. and other things. She said they have much easier pregnancies than humans, and if we’re to believe her, Cat Folk babies are cute and easy to raise. 'Give them kids a clew to play, and they are happy all day.' Nekojin proverb.”

  Rowan facepalmed but gathered his will for the new challenge. “OK. No worries. Fair enough, I guess. The point is, I didn’t marry any of you without considering the possibility of having kids. What are you thinking about having one together?”

  “Well, Isla likes the idea. She’s very motherly and told me she’d enjoy having more; Thomas was six when she adopted him.”

  “I didn't ask about Isla; I asked about you. I wouldn’t love Lizzie any less if we had more kids, and I’ll try to be a good father for all of them.”

  “I know…” she fondled his cheek.

  Reflecting on his adoptive daughter brought a smile to his face. “I love Lizzie so much that I often wish to have known her as a baby. To rock her in my arms, care for her when her teeth grew…”

  “Trust me, you have no idea what you’re talking about," Grace snorted. "Let’s do this: if our quest succeeds and Earth is safe, we’ll go for it.”

  “We're safe in here anyway.” She snorted again, and he raised his hands upward in surrender. “So be it. I’ll work hard to make Earth safe.”

  “Don’t! Please don’t work hard. For you, working hard means putting yourself in danger. Be more careful. Are you going to shower first?” she asked.

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  “In five?” he asked, starting to knead her body.

  “Make it ten,” she whispered.

  Fifteen minutes later, with Grace back to a late morning sleep, Rowan arrived downstairs. Lizzie was already in school. Cora mumbled a hi, her mouth full, but Dmitri was washing the dishes by hand, so he was open to talking.

  “So, Dmitri, what’s up with Papa?”

  “Wrong?" Dmitri let a plate fall back in the sink and raised his hands heavenward. "Nothing’s wrong, except he’s killing lots of people. Murder hobo style.”

  Rowan was now slack-jawed. “P-papa?”

  “None other. The Warlord gave him a quest: kill a thousand people and save one thousand. The latter, he’s already done with.”

  “He saved a thousand people in a month?”

  “He’s a healer, and he went around hospitals in the outside world, helping people recover from terrible injuries and illnesses. He’s considered a Saint out there.”

  “Oh… nice…”

  “That’s the good part. Then, he purged the FBI of corrupt… officers? Do they refer to them as officers or agents? Whatever. Killed tons. Now, he goes on missions with SWAT teams and cops against drug dealers and cartels. He can’t be harmed, you see. He self-heals, pushes his regens to the max, and has a magical shield and military-grade body armor immune to anything short of a cannon. The cops let him do their job. He rushes ahead, kills everybody, and the police accidentally discover the crime scene afterward," Dmitri made air quotes, in duplicate, to make his point." Saves them paperwork.”

  “Isn’t he wanted?”

  “You're joking, right? They gave him a medal. What am I saying? A bunch of medals.”

  “Let’s look at the good part: he’s not on my head all day anymore. Thanks for the heads up, Dmitri. I’ll speak with him when possible, but don’t hope for miracles.”

  “I don’t hope for anything, just gave you the news.”

  “Ahum,” Cora cleared her voice to ask for Rowan's attention.

  “Sorry, baby… Want me to cook you some pancakes?”

  “We need to talk. I swear, sometimes, I want to strangle you,” the Nekojin sneered with her cute cat-like expression, creasing her little nose.

  I think I’ve heard that before.

  “Taking a week off, just like that? There is work to be done,” the Nekojin continued, crossing her arms.

  “I’m all ears, baby. Tell me what you want me to do,” Rowan made puppy eyes. "I mean, everything for the future mother of my kid."

  “Honey…” she melted, accepting his hug. “Don’t worry about anything; pregnancy is way easier for us. Now, are you ready to hear the news?”

  “Just a sec to grab something to eat.” A minute later, with a plate of food and a cup of coffee in his hands, Rowan nodded to her.

  “That African dictator was spot on. We're searching in a new pattern and found seven cores inside the County, for now, all of which are high-level dungeons. About fifty cores were jettisoned here in the US; half were mini cores, all but six were accounted for, and the rest were real. So, there are about twelve more dungeons to be found.”

  "Nice," Rowan nodded, gobbling a pancake, trying to find more subjects for conversation. However, he managed only to frown, chew, and look into nothingness. It was Cora who broke the silence.

  “I want you to know that I'm working to repair the Traipenent's insertion and extraction room—the one we used to place the prisoners in dungeons. I want to pull out the prisoners before consuming the true dungeon cores. I'm uncomfortable with the idea of giving life while casually taking others. '

  Her pretty mouth and serious expression were so endearing that Rowan kissed her again. "Don't worry, baby, we'll work it out. We'll put them in a regular prison or something like that.”

  A short police siren signal resounded outside, indicating that Isla had arrived. Cora rushed to whisper to Rowan: "Be careful; she’ll show you Louisville's projects. Grace loathes them. Here,” Cora showed him some photos on her screen.”

  “But they’re pretty!” Rowan exclaimed.

  “They’re AI-assisted," Cora said. "Grace says it’s cheating, and Isla says the prompt makes the art, not the AI. The good news is that I’m now each one's BFF, and the bad news is that they hate each other. Except when sleeping together, then, they get along quite well.”

  “Fuuuuuuck… why don't women ever— Hey, honey,” Rowan shifted his tone and stood up to hug and kiss Isla.

  “I want to strangle you,” she said, but after kissing him.

  “Take a ticket; the line’s upstairs. What did I do?”

  “Nothing, except being yourself,” Isla waved her hand, sitting at the table after taking a cup of tea. “You have a secret fan club, and groupies are writing on social media about how your AoE feels on their skin. As soft as kisses, if you must know.”

  “What the fuck?" Rowan yelled. "I didn’t AoE on anyone’s skin.”

  “Sure you did, on Nerio and Nottie’s. They both have a crush on you. The good news: they agreed to share. Bad news: ain’t going to happen. We, your wives, strongly disagree.”

  “I won’t have sex with two teenagers just because we hiked together, for goodness' sake! I’ll keep my distance, I promise.”

  “Sure you will. I enrolled them in high school to keep them busy and around cute boys of their mental age. Also, I sent them to go hunting crats in Vancouver—"

  "Moment!" Rowan blurted, forwarding both his hands in a stopping gesture. "What the fuck are crats?"

  "Mutated cats and rats breed. Nerio and Nottie kill them, then weep and post all over social media how they represent true forbidden love, like Romeow and Juli— Ratatouille, whatever."

  "Romeow, really?" Cora raised her voice, hissing.