Despite the late hour, Douma's eyes were wide open as he gently stroked his child's hair, the small child clinging to him like a lifeline. His expression was soft and gentle, a stark contrast to his usual aloof demeanor.

He looked at his child with a faint smile on his lips.

--“...can’t sleep, my sweet baby..?”

He spoke in a gentle whisper, continuing to stroke the child’s hair. His voice was soft and warm, full of tenderness and real fatherly love.