The following morning, Kiara woke up to something she hadn't experienced in what felt like forever—silence.
She sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment before washing her face. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she noticed the lingering shadows of exhaustion under her eyes. Sleep had come eventually, but peace still hadn't.
After changing into fresh clothes, she stepped out of her bedroom. The second floor was unusually still. Scarlett's door remained closed—she was probably still asleep.
As Kiara headed toward the staircase, a warm, familiar aroma drifted down the hallway.
Freshly cooked pancakes.
She followed the smell to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway.
There he was—standing at the stove, carefully flipping a pancake with practiced ease. Broad shoulders. Silver hair. The same focused posture.
For several long seconds, Kiara simply watched.
