The morning sun peeked through the small window of their cottage, filling the room with a soft glow. Lyra sat quietly, watching her son sleep peacefully beside her, his small hand curled against his cheek. Mina had stepped out for some water, leaving Lyra with a few moments alone to gather her thoughts.
Her mind kept returning to Dawson. She didn't fully understand him, and as much as she appreciated his help, there was a nagging curiosity—who was he really? What had drawn him to her and Mina? She felt a mix of gratitude and suspicion; Dawson had appeared so suddenly and just when she needed help the most.
As she finished breakfast, she heard footsteps outside the cottage. Dawson's tall figure appeared in the doorway, his expression calm, though he looked slightly surprised to see her waiting for him.
"Dawson," she greeted, her tone gentle but firm, "can we talk?"
Dawson entered the cottage, nodding. "Of course, Lyra. What's on your mind?"
