Morning at Starfall Estate dawned gentle, with warm sun pouring through the eastern windows and spilling across the parquet floors.
The rhythm of festival excitement from the previous night had faded; in its place, a hush, as if the world was offering Ethan and his parents a day of peace—a reward earned and deeply needed.
The house felt softer, quieter. Anthony had left his study door open, exposing a rare sight: he was reading, feet curled up, spectacles perched on his nose, mug of spiced tea steaming.
Aurora, humming under her breath, moved from room to room, gathering faint traces of celebration—folded lantern wrappers, stray sweets, and a scattering of flower petals that clung to her slippers.
Ethan lingered in bed, listening to muffled voices, ordinary and lulling. For once, he allowed himself the luxury of waking slow.
