October 6, 2025 — 6:30 AMRockwell, Their Apartment — Kitchen
The coffee maker sputtered to life with a quiet hiss, filling the kitchen with its familiar aroma. But the real music of the morning was happening behind Angel.
A low gurgle.
Then a giggle.
Then the soft thump-thump of a pair of socked feet kicking rhythmically against the floor of a baby bouncer.
Angel didn't turn around right away—she was measuring formula with practiced precision—but the smile tugging at her lips said it all. Aurora's babbles had become the background soundtrack of their lives. And somehow, despite the exhaustion and endless adjusting, she'd grown to love that sound more than any progress alert or dashboard ping.
"Your Highness," she said without turning, "is it too early for diplomacy?"
Aurora squealed and kicked harder, her plush bear spinning from the force.