Sienna’s POV

Lyra tilts her chin up toward me, her eyes huge and shining. I cross the small space, drop to my knees, and sweep her curls away from her forehead.

She presses a cupcake into my hands—frosting and sprinkles, her fingertips tacky with sugar.

“For you,” she tells me.

And it hits so hard I almost forget how to breathe.

I kiss her hair. “Thank you, Habibti.”

Somewhere behind me, the bakery bell gives ...