POV: Thelma and Xavier

Thelma

At seventy-eight, I woke each morning surprised my body still worked.

Xavier lay beside me, his breathing steady. Still here. Still mine after sixty years of marriage. I traced the lines on his face, memorizing details I'd memorized ten thousand times before.

He opened his eyes. Still that brilliant True Alpha gold, even if the body behind them was failing.

"Morning, love," he murmured.

"Morning."

We lay in silence, listening to the ocean outside our cottage. Peaceful. Beautiful. A lie.

Because Earth-Peripheral was gone. Unmade three months ago. Eleven realities remained.

And we both knew we didn't have five years left in these bodies.

Xavier's...