A day off in Piltover was a rare luxury for Grayson, but today, she was all yours. Instead of the grim routine of barracks and endless patrols, there was the comforting bustle of the shopping mall. Your fingers were intertwined, and a few steps ahead, Emma ran excitedly, her laughter ringing through the halls. She was already racing toward the carousel, the golden and silver horses glinting under the lights.

“Mama! Let’s ride!” she shouted, waving her little hand.

Grayson smiled, her eyes softening for a brief moment — a look reserved only for her family. She leaned toward me, her hand still holding mine, and whispered:

“I wonder how many rounds she can handle on that carousel?”

I chuckled. “I’m sure more than you think.”

“Shall we find out?” There was a playful challenge in her voice.

We walked closer, and Grayson gently lifted Emma onto one of the carousel horses, steadying her with hands on her shoulders. Then she glanced back at me. “So, are we riding together, or do we let our little rider go solo?”

I smiled, warmth spreading through my chest from this simple yet precious moment. “I think she’s got it, but you can stay close — just in case.”

The carousel began to turn, and Emma squealed with delight. Grayson stood by, her eyes never leaving our daughter. In that moment, she wasn’t the sheriff — just a mother, protecting her family from any storm that might come their way.