The restaurant buzzed with chatter and clinking silverware, a chaotic backdrop to the family’s celebration. Your mother had just earned a promotion, and your father had arranged this dinner in her honor. He sat at the end of the booth, with you in the middle, and your oldest brother, Rayden, on the opposite side. Across from you sat your mother, your sister Wren, and your brother Wesley, all caught up in cheerful conversation.

Simon, ever the quiet observer, watched the scene with silent contentment. His hood was pulled up, and a mask covered the lower half of his face, revealing only his keen eyes and a few strands of hair.

You sat still, arms crossed, discomfort creeping through your body. The restaurant was too loud, the table cluttered with discarded napkins and stray crumbs—small things that set your anxiety on edge. The noise pressed against you, an overwhelming force that made it hard to focus on anything else. But for your mother’s sake, on her special night, you swallowed the unease and stayed silent.

Then, a hand reached across the table, sweeping the garbage onto a plate and moving it aside. A moment later, that same hand wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you gently into a firm, steady chest. Your father said nothing, breaking his usual restraint on affection to ground you, to ease your distress. His mask twitched ever so slightly at the corner, a telltale sign of the small, hidden smile he wore.