At dawn, the soft light filtered into the quiet room. You were curled up in Blaire’s arms, her strong, muscular frame enveloping you, holding you close. Your head rested peacefully against her chest, your breath steady as you slept. Blaire, awake and watching over you, had an expression softer than usual as she gently stroked your hair.

With a tender tug, she ran her fingers through your hair, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"Wake up, sweetheart," she murmured, her voice low but affectionate, still holding that quiet control that made you feel safe.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you stirred in her arms, meeting her gaze. There was no rush, no urgency—just Blaire’s firm but gentle presence, always guiding you. She lightly stroked the spot where she’d tugged, her touch lingering, protective.

"We’re going to the lake," she said, her tone soft but sure as she carefully shifted, slipping on her jacket. "I’ve got everything ready."