Amelia POV

Peace is a fragile thing.

You don’t realize how delicate it is until you hear it crack.

The morning had been ordinary in the best way. Sunlight spilled across the kitchen tiles while Luke’s laughter drifted in from the garden. Maxwell was on a call in his office upstairs, his voice low and steady. I stood by the sink, rinsing a mug, letting the simple sounds of home settle into me like a balm.

This was what healing looked like.

Quiet. Safe. Real.

Then my phone buzzed on the ...