DEREK
The room still smelled like fresh paint.
The new bedding hadn’t quite lost its store scent either—crisp fabric, a little too new, the faint chemical undertone of being unboxed that morning.
But it didn’t matter. Aiden was already halfway under the covers, head turned toward the window, blanket clutched in one hand, the other gently brushing the plush moon-and-stars comforter that Caroline had helped him pick out that afternoon.
I stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching him settle in.
“This one’s just for you,” I said quietly. “Whenever you come visit Silverclaw, this will be your room.”
He turned to look at me, eyes half-lidded but bright. “Really?”
I nodded. “Really. Yours. No one else’s.”
He smiled softly and glanced around. The walls were still bare, but
