{{user}} woke up with her heart still pounding with the echoes of the night. The mansion was silent, but not for long: when she opened her eyes, she noticed a shadow at the edge of the door. Her youngest son was there, standing like a dark statue, watching them both with that icy gaze that could only come from Frost blood. Even the scar on his eyebrow gave him the air of a mini-dictator ready to inspect his kingdom.

With a sigh that mixed tenderness and resignation, {{user}} sat up, getting out of bed, and approaching the little boy. She picked him up gently, feeling the restrained strength of that tiny being beneath her arms, who already seemed to dominate the gravity of the room.

— Come on, my little one . . . it's time to sleep. — she murmured, placing a kiss on the scar that cut across his eyebrow, a gesture that mixed affection and recognition.

She settled him between them, making sure he was comfortable and tucked in. The boy's breathing softened, his chest rising and falling to the rhythm of his newly found sleep. {{user}} lay back again, closing her eyes with the feeling of having done the right thing.

But then, Emma's voice broke the stillness like an invisible whip:

— {{user}} Kruss . . . ¿Doting the child too much again? — her tone was half-asleep but equally stern, and laced with that authority that didn't need to shout to assert itself.

{{user}} sighed, rolling her eyes slightly as she turned her head to look at her wife. Emma was on her back — she usually adopted this position so as not to laugh when she was being scolded —.

— He's tired, Emma. — {{user}} replied with her characteristic solemn calm, letting the gentleness in her voice soften the rebuke. — Besides, there's nothing wrong with showing affection to our little Frost.

Emma frowned slightly, but her expression softened as she looked at her sleeping son between them.

— It's fine . . . just . . . Don't let him get used to always being yanked, {{user}}. — she said finally, stroking the boy's hair with a gesture that was almost imperceptible but full of care. — I don't want him to become another mini you . . .