Later that night, Alina found herself tossing and turning.
Sleep wouldn’t come easily.
Her mind kept playing everything on repeat — the lockdown, the children crying. Even though she was safe now, her heart still hadn’t settled.
It was nearly 2 a.m. when she finally fell asleep.
When she woke up, the morning light was already slipping through the window curtains. She stretched and checked the time — 8:00 a.m.
Rubbing her eyes, she pulled on a soft cardigan and padded downstairs, her bare feet making quiet sounds against the smooth floor.
As she turned into the dining area, she blinked in surprise.
Lucien was already there, sitting on a stool near the long table.
He was wearing a cozy gray set of little shorts and a loose top that had tiny black buttons. His black hair was slightly messy and his round, serious eyes were focused as he sat quietly, touching his little horns absentmindedly.
He looked deep in thought or maybe just a bit upset.
"Good morning," she said softly.
Lucien looked up in surprise, like he hadn’t noticed her coming in.
He stared at her for a second... then gave a tiny nod. "Good morning, teacher," he said.
His voice was quiet, polite, but not cold.
"Breakfast is ready!" Mira’s cheerful voice called from the kitchen.
Alina and Lucien sat next to each other at the table.
As she glanced at the spread in front of them, she felt relieved to see a more normal breakfast this time — toast, boiled eggs, warm milk, and some fruit.
Thank goodness, she thought. No meat today.
She glanced sideways at Lucien.
He was still playing with the tip of his horn, chewing on the edge of his toast but looking a little distracted.
"Sweetheart... where’s your father?" she asked casually. "He didn’t come to breakfast?"
His lips pressed together for a second, then he answered, "He’s busy."
Alina nodded slowly. "Hmm... busy with what? What does he usually do all day?"
She knew Dante was busy with matters related to the kindergarten shield, but she still asked—just as an excuse to speak with Lucien.
Lucien looked at her again.
This time, he didn’t answer right away.
He seemed to think about it seriously, his small hands folding in his lap.
"He... works a lot," Lucien finally said. "Meetings. Papers. Spells. Guards. Shields. Wards. Angry people. Calm people. Weird people."
Alina blinked. "That’s... a long list," she said with a surprised smile.
"He forgets to eat sometimes. I remind him. But sometimes he still forgets." He frowned a little. "He thinks he can do everything by himself."
Alina watched him speak, surprised by the sudden change. His voice was still small, but it sounded serious like a little adult trying to explain something important.
"I wait for him," Lucien said, stabbing a piece of fruit gently with his fork. "Sometimes I wait at night. I want to talk to him, but he comes home too late."
Alina’s chest ached a little at those words.
She reached out and gently placed her hand over his tiny one. "You must miss him a lot."
But his little fingers didn’t pull away.
"I’m sure he misses you too," she added, keeping her voice light. "Even if he doesn’t say it all the time."
Lucien was quiet again.
Then, slowly... he nodded.
Lucien glanced at her again, this time with a little less distance in his eyes.
He was opening up. Little by little.
He sat in the middle of his room, wrapped in a towel like a soggy dumpling, hair dripping, cheeks puffed out, and steam coming softly from his nose.
"I look like wet chicken..." he muttered sadly, staring at his reflection in the shiny toy mirror.
Just then, the door opened and his mama walked in, holding his clean shirt.
"Grrr!" Drake growled the moment she stepped in.
Pyrra didn’t even react. She smiled and came closer, patting his head with warm fingers. "You’re growling at me now?"
Drake crossed his arms tightly. "You gave me bath!! I was sleeping! You woke me up!"
"You were snoring like a dragon truck," Pyrra teased, picking up his pajama pants.
"I’m big dragon, Mama!" he said seriously, little chin lifting in pride. "Big dragons don’t take bath!"
"Oh?" Pyrra raised an eyebrow. "Since when?"
"Since... since forever!" he shouted. "And Boo doesn’t take bath! Boo just floaty!"
"That’s because Boo is a ghost, sweetheart."
Drake frowned, puffing out his cheeks. "Then I want to be ghost too! No bath. No soap. No splash!"
Pyrra chuckled and started drying his feet. "But ghosts don’t get spicy chicken nuggets."
Drake froze. "...Oh."
She smiled. "And ghosts don’t get bedtime stories either."
Drake’s eyes widened in horror.
"No nuggets?! No stories?!"
Pyrra nodded solemnly. "Nope. Just cold wind and creepy floating."
Drake looked down at his belly. Then his toes. Then his little claws.
"...Okay, I be dragon," he muttered sadly, letting her pull the shirt over his head.
But then he squinted at her and mumbled with a pout, "Next time, no bath. Only... maybe-wipe. Okay?"
Pyrra laughed, scooped him into her arms, and kissed his steamed forehead. "We’ll see, little dragon. We’ll see."
Drake huffed again and mumbled, "Wet chicken dragon..." before hiding his face in her shoulder.
After his mom left the room, Drake sat in his bed, his hair still a bit damp and sticking up in all directions. He was sulking about the bath when suddenly—
On the small table beside his bed, he spotted Mama’s phone.
His big amber eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Drake had seen adults use phones many times. His father had even shown him once or twice how to press buttons and call people. He wasn’t a baby! He was smart! He picked it up carefully like it was treasure, holding it with both hands.
He blinked at the screen.
"Let’s see... how do I call..." he mumbled to himself, little thumb swiping randomly.
Suddenly, he stopped.
His eyes grew bigger.
That was Vlad Jr.’s dad, right? He had heard the name before when his mom gossiped with the other moms at the Moon Festival.
Drake didn’t hesitate.
The line rang once... twice... and then—