DEXTER'S POV
As the first rays of dawn poured into the opulent chamber through the intricate windows, my attention was immediately drawn to a peculiar sight. There, on his regal bed, lay my three-year-old son, Drake. His cherubic cheeks, usually flushed with health, were now pale as the ethereal glow of the moon.
It was a disconcerting image, for a child of his tender age to bear such weariness, as if he had been engaged in a nocturnal battle. His delicate frame trembled visibly, and despite the cool morning air, a thin sheen of sweat adorned his forehead. A fever had taken hold of him, his small body radiating heat like a blazing furnace.
"Drake," I called out softly, my voice laced with concern, as I approached his bedside. "What ails you, my son?"
He stirred, his eyelids flutterin
