Mist’s POV
Charles spins toward the door like he's trying out for a speedwalking event, panic barely concealed under a thin sheet of supposed calm. "Sweetheart, Daddy and Mist were just... discussing very important grown-up stuff. High-level talks, you might say. So, what terrifying creatures haunted your dreams?" He crouches down, wrapping Stella into a hug that’s endearing in its awkwardness.
With the grace of someone herding cats, Charles gently steers Stella back to her bedroom, while I tag along, trying not to laugh at his bumble.
Stella’s small form quivers in his strong embrace, her whimpers echoing like a tiny chorus of wounded kittens. Her tiny hands clutch desperately at the fabric of his shirt, her tear-streaked face buried in the crook of his neck.
“Wuh... it was so scary..
