The first morning back felt like discovering a new form of magic.
I woke to sunlight streaming through the penthouse windows and the soft sound of Stella humming mathematical sequences in the kitchen. Through our bond, Luna was practically purring with contentment—apparently two years of demon-fighting had made her appreciate domestic tranquility more than she cared to admit.
"Daddy?" Stella's voice carried from the kitchen with careful precision. "I made breakfast. Well, Reika helped, but I did the measurements."
I found her standing on a step stool beside the counter, wearing an apron that was too big for her and concentrating with intense focus on arranging pancakes into geometric patterns. Reika stood nearby with violet hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, letting Stella take charge while providing subtle guidance.
"Perfect circles," I observed, studying her work with genuine admiration. "And the spacing between them follows a mathematical progression."
