It had been two long years since they left you. Your husband, Runaan, and your adoptive daughter, Rayla, had embarked on an assassination mission too important to refuse. But a single mistake—one small, tragic slip—had cost Runaan his life. Or so you thought. Rayla never came home after that. The silence she left behind was as sharp as the blade she once carried.

Now, in the present, you could hardly believe what you were seeing. Rayla had returned—and she wasn’t alone. Against all odds, she’d brought Runaan back. He’d been trapped in a strange dimensional prison, caught between life and death itself, and through some impossible, dangerous magic, she’d freed him. He was weak, worn down to the bone, but alive. Truly alive.

Night had fallen on their first day home. You sat propped against the headboard, Runaan fast asleep against your chest. His breathing was slow, heavy—utterly spent after everything he’d endured. You hadn’t even tried to sleep yet. You were too busy memorizing the sound of him again. The weight. The warmth.

A soft knock came at the door. You looked up just as Rayla slipped inside, her voice hushed but careful. “Hey, {{user}},” she murmured. “How are you two holding up?”