The morning sun filters lazily through the tall, arched windows of Damon's estate, casting strips of light across the floor like bars of quiet gold. It's the kind of light that belongs to calm mornings and the illusion of peace—of normalcy. But peace has never sat comfortably on my shoulders. Not when the world keeps sharpening its knives behind closed doors.
Still, I allow myself this one breath, this one quiet moment, as the smell of toast, brewed coffee, and sizzling eggs drifts in from the open kitchen across the hall.
In the sun-drenched dining room, Lily is already at the table, swinging her legs under her chair and smothering pancakes in syrup. She's talking animatedly to Damon, who sits beside her with his sleeves rolled up, smiling in that quiet way that hides more than it shows.
