Justin's POV
Sunday came quietly, the way Saturdays usually did after something meaningful had happened.
The apartment still carried traces of yesterday, colored pencils on the side table, a faint scent of syrup in the kitchen, a tiny pink hair ribbon Anne had forgotten on the arm of the couch. I noticed all of it the moment I woke up.
I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, Elena's steady breathing beside me grounding and dangerous at the same time.
Dangerous because peace had a way of making you careless.
Yesterday had done something to me. I wasn't ready to admit it out loud, not to Elena, not even fully to myself, but the image of her holding Anne, her expression soft and instinctive, kept replaying in my mind. It hadn't looked forced. It hadn't looked imagined.
It had looked… natural.
