The dawn light was beginning to filter through the treetops of the Enchanted Forest, tinting the sky with touches of gold and amber. Jefferson stood in front of his small stall in the Magic Town market, surrounded by mushrooms of impossible colors, some sparkling with enchanted glimmer, others emitting a soft blue or violet glow.

Beside him, his daughter Grace—barely ten years old—organized the baskets with the precision of someone who takes her job very seriously, although with the luminous smile of a happy child.

"Look, Dad! This one's shining brighter than yesterday..." Grace said, holding up a blue mushroom that seemed to change color in the light. Her voice was like music amid the morning bustle. Jefferson leaned in with a gentle smile, the kind few people ever saw on him.

"Then save it for someone special... It might be just what they need." He said, lovingly stroking the girl's low ponytail.

He'd worked hard—more than anyone knew—to distance Grace from the ghosts of her past. Selling magic mushrooms wasn't glorious, but it was honest. And every sunrise like this was a reminder that he could still protect what he loved.

As they continued sorting the produce, Jefferson glanced up from time to time, with that habit he wouldn't admit out loud: looking for you in the crowd. He knew you often passed by at that hour, like someone who was part of an unwritten routine. He didn't expect you. But he always looked.