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Seattle...

Iris stood before the wide, rain-splattered window of her living room in Ravenna, the rhythmic patter of Seattle's relentless downpour tapping against the glass like a distant echo of her own unsettled thoughts. The gray light of the morning stretched thin across the room, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out and pull her back, back to the nightmare she had barely escaped in Hawaii. Her mind, unbidden, drifted to the flames-vivid, hungry, devouring. She could still feel the heat, the suffocating smoke as it clawed at her lungs. Stone's hand in hers, gripping so tightly as if holding on to one another would somehow pull them through unscathed. The sheer panic of not knowing whether they'd make it out alive haunted her in moments like these. And then there was Benedict. His name whispered through her mind like a ghost. The memory of him standing in the garden, daylight tearing into his flesh as he chose to shield her one last time. Her heart ached at the thought, not for the loss of him-no, not that-but for the way it had ended, for the terrible and senseless nature of it all. Her chest tightened, and without warning, her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away quickly, wiping at her face with the back of her hand just as she heard the soft thud of footsteps descending the stairs behind her. The sound of her children's voices-so full of life, so unaware of how close they had come to losing everything-brought her back to the present. Iris took a breath, steadying herself. The past could haunt her all it wanted, but she had to be strong. For them.

"Mom..." River's soft voice pulled Iris from her reverie. She turned from the window, where the rain tapped insistently against the glass. "Dad said you're taking us to school today?"

"I am," Iris replied, her smile tender as she reached out to ruffle River's hair. "Are you ready?"

River nodded confidently, but a small voice interrupted, filled with a familiar pout. "I don't wanna go to school, mommy."

Iris crouched down to meet Ula's wide, imploring eyes, so much like her father's, and a giggle escaped her lips as she pressed her finger into Ula's belly. "Why not, noodle?" she asked, coaxing her daughter's reluctance with a playful touch.

"Because it's raining, and it's cold, and you and daddy are staying home..." Ula trailed off, her lip jutting out in a full pout.

Iris couldn't help but smile as she kissed her daughter's cheek. "That's no excuse," she teased gently, her eyes soft with affection. Rising again, she glanced over at River. "Where's Harlow?"

"In the kitchen with dad and Zane," River answered, tilting her chin toward the hallway. "We should go. Zane said breakfast is ready."

Ula squeezed Iris's hand, still unsure. "I don't know about this breakfast..."

Iris laughed softly. "Come on," she urged. "Dad braved the rain early this morning just to get those muffins you all love."

Ula's eyes brightened with excitement, a wide grin spreading across her face. "Really?"

Iris nodded, her smile growing warmer. "You might owe daddy an apology for doubting him."

"Dad makes the best breakfasts!" River chimed in. Her voice proud. "He always made breakfast when you were in Paris."

Iris's gaze softened as she looked at her daughter. "Your dad is wonderful," she agreed, a quiet note of admiration in her voice as she gently tugged Ula toward the kitchen.

As Iris and the girls stepped into the kitchen, the scent of freshly baked muffins greeted them. At the counter, Stone stood with a spatula in hand, turning pancakes on the stove, his back slightly hunched in concentration. His hair was damp from the rain, strands still clinging to his forehead, and he wore a worn, beloved sweater that Iris had always teased him about. Despite the early morning rush, he moved with ease, as if this routine was second nature to him. Harlow sat perched on a high stool, swinging her legs and nibbling on a muffin, her face smeared with crumbs, while Zane stood by the fridge, pouring himself a glass of juice. The sight of her children at ease filled Iris's heart with a quiet joy, the normalcy of the scene a balm after the chaotic thoughts swirling in her head.

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