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    57 Chapter 57


    57 Chapter 57


    Damien’s POV 1


    The sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand jolted me awake at exactly 5:47 AM. For a heart-stopping moment, panic flooded my system as I reached for it, expecting some emergency from the northern territories where Sera was conducting her heritage search.


    Instead, I found a text from Ophelia.


    *Emergency at the hospital. My mom had a stroke. Can you handle Adrian today? I’m so sorry – I know this isst minute but I can’t


    reach anyone else and I have to get to Pornd immediately.*


    I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness. Of course I could handle Adrian for a day. How hard


    could it be?


    *Of course. Take care of your mom. Adrian will be fine.*


    Her response came immediately: *Thank you SO much. I’ll leave the spare key under the flower pot by the door. He knows the routine.*


    Twenty minutester, I stood outside Sera’s modest apartment building, still slightly disoriented by the early hour and the suburban


    quiet. The key was exactly where she’d said it would be, hidden beneath a ceramic pot containing.


    I let myself in as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake Adrian before necessary.


    “Mr. Damien?” A small voice drifted from the direction of bedroom. “Is that you?”


    “Yeah, buddy, it’s me, I called softly, following the sound of his voice down a short hallway. “Aunt Ophelia had to go help her mom, so I’m


    going to hang out with you today.”


    Adrian’s bedroom door was cracked open. He was sitting up in bed, his dark curls sticking up at impossible angles and his blue eyes still


    heavy with sleep. He wore Spider-Man pajamas that were slightly too big for his small frame, the sleeves covering his handspletely.


    “Is her mom going to be okay?”


    “I think so,” I said honestly, settling on the edge of his bed carefully. The mattress dipped under my weight, and he scooted closer


    without seeming to realize he was doing it. “But Aunt Ophelia wants to be there with her, just like how your mommy would want to be


    there if you got hurt.”


    Adrian nodded solemnly, apparently satisfied with this exnation. “Are we going to have adventures today?”


    “What kind of adventures do you usually have?” I asked, genuinely curious about how a four-year-old structured his days.


    “Well,” Adrian said, settling back against his pillows and adopting the tone of someone preparing to deliver aprehensive lecture, “first we have breakfast. Aunt Ophelia makes really good pancakes, but she says they’re not as good as Mommy’s. Then we brush teeth


    and get dressed and maybe watch cartoons if there’s time before school.”


    Right. School. I nced at the clock on his nightstand and realized we had exactly forty-seven minutes to aplish all of those tasks


    and get him to his preschool on time.


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    57 Chapter 57


    “Pancakes it is,” I said, standing up with more confidence than I felt. “But we need to get moving if we’re going to make it to school on


    time.”


    Adrian bounced out of bed with the kind of instant energy that only children seemed capable of summoning. “I can help! I’m really good


    at stirring.”


    The kitchen proved to be my first major challenge. Ophelia had thoughtfully left out a box of pancake mix and a note with basic instructions, but she’d apparently overestimated my domestic capabilities. The note cheerfully suggested “just add water and stir!”


    Adrian proved to be an excellent sous chef, chattering continuously as we worked through the pancake process. He told me about his friend at school who could allegedly burp the alphabet, about the new teacher who wore “sparkly” earrings, and about a book Sera had


    been reading to him about dragons who lived in libraries.


    I attempted to flip our first pancake with disastrous results. “Mommy says that’s how you get really smart-by reading lots of books.”


    “Your mommy is very wise,” I agreed, scraping pancake fragments off the pan with growing dismay. How had something so simple gone


    so wrong so quickly?


    “Here, let me show you,” Adrian said, reaching for the spat with the fearless confidence of someone who had never doubted his own


    abilities. “You have to wait for the bubbles on top, and then you flip it really fast. Like this!”


    With surprising skill for someone whose hands were barelyrge enough to grip the handle properly, he demonstrated the proper pancake-flipping technique. The pancakended perfectly in the pan, golden brown and intact.


    “Where did you learn to do that?” I asked, genuinely impressed.


    “Mommy taught me,” he said proudly. “She says everyone should know how to cook at least a little bit, even boys.”


    We managed to produce a stack of reasonably edible pancakes, which Adrian dered “almost as good as Mommy’s but better than the


    cafeteria ones.” Victory, apparently, came in small and sticky packages.


    His preschool was a bright, cheerful building that buzzed with the controlled chaos of dozens of small children arriving for their day. I watched other parents navigating the drop-off routine with practiced ease, and tried to project the same casualpetence despite


    feelingpletely out of my element.


    “Mr. Damien, Adrian said as I walked him to his ssroom, his small hand warm in mine. “Will you pick me up today too?”


    “If that’s what you want,” I said, surprised by how much I hoped his answer would be yes.


    “Good, he said with satisfaction. “I want to show you the picture I’m going to draw of you today. I’m going to make you really tall and


    give you superhero muscles.”


    “Have a wonderful day, sweetie,” I said, crouching down to Adrian’s level. Without hesitation, he threw his small arms around my neck in


    a hug that was brief but fierce.


    “You too, Mr. Damien,” he said solemnly. “Don’t forget to eat lunch. Mommy says you sometimes forget to eat when you’re working.”


    When I arrived at the school that afternoon, Adrian came running toward me with the kind of uninhibited joy that made several other parents smile. He crashed into my legs with enough force to make me stagger slightly, his backpack bouncing against his back.


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    57 Chapter 57


    “Mr. Damien! Look what I made!” He thrust a piece of construction paper at me, practically vibrating with excitement.


    The drawing was clearly meant to be me-a very tall stick figure with what appeared to be a business suit and an expression that could generously be described as “serious.” Beside the stick figure was a much smaller figurebeled “ADRIAN” in careful block letters, and both figures were surrounded by what looked like hearts and stars.


    “This is incredible,” I said honestly, studying the artwork with the attention I usually reserved for multimillion-dor contracts. “I’m


    definitely putting this on my office wall.”


    By the time we returned to the apartment, Adrian’s energy had finally begun to g slightly. We settled on the couch with a stack of his


    favorite books. His warm weight against my side was surprisinglyforting.


    “Mr. Damien?” he said quietly as I finished reading about a lost penguin finding his way home.


    “Yeah, buddy?”


    “Do you think Mommy misses us?”


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