The morning after the siege felt strangely unreal. The house stood quiet, too quiet for a place that had echoed with gunfire only hours earlier. The walls still bore scars, shattered glass, bullet holes, and scorch marks, but within those wounds there was life. The storm had passed, and for the first time in years, Aria could breathe without the taste of fear in her mouth.
She stood barefoot on the balcony, wrapped in Luca's oversized shirt, watching the sun rise over the horizon. The garden below was a mess of debris, with soldiers moving like ghosts to clear what remained of the fight. The air smelled of smoke and fresh dew. Somewhere behind her, the faint hum of a lullaby drifted from the music box she'd placed in the nursery the night before.
