Ember nestled into her bed, the traded silk quilts heavy and familiar. Her father lowered himself into the chair beside her, its ancient wood creaking in protest. The candle on her bedside table cast long shadows across his weathered face.

“The Clever Mouse?” he asked, already reaching for the battered book.

“Yes,” she said, curling onto her side to watch him. The book’s leather binding was smooth from years of handling, its pages yellowed and soft at the corners.

Thomas opened to the first page, his voice shifting into the gentle rhythm that made even the guard captain’s children beg him for stories. “In the bustling market of Silvertown lived a mouse unlike any other. While other mice were content to nibble crumbs and hide in shadows, this mouse dreamed of adventure.”

A clattering sound from the street made his fingers still on the page. Ember watched his hand become the mouse, scampering across her blanket as he continued.

“The merchant’s cat was his greatest challenge. ‘No mouse shall ever outsmart me!’ the cat declared, prowling through the marketplace.”

“He’s too proud,” Ember whispered, though the words were as familiar as her own name.

“Indeed he was, little fox.” Thomas turned the page. His shoulders tensed at movement beyond the window, but his voice remained steady. “But our clever mouse had a plan…”

The story flowed on as Ember’s blinks grew longer. She wanted to stay awake for the part where the mouse outsmarted the cat, but her father’s voice and the warm quilts made that harder with each passing moment. The candle flickered, Thomas’s hands painting shadows of mice and cats across her blanket.

“‘You may be bigger,’” he squeaked, “‘but I am smarter!’” His fingers tightened on the book at the sound of boots on cobblestones outside.

“What happens next?” Ember murmured, even as her eyes grew too heavy to keep open.

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Thomas leaned closer, his voice softening. “Well, behind the baker’s stall, the clever mouse had hidden…”

She tried to focus on his face - the way his expression shifted for each character, how his eyes crinkled at the funny parts - but exhaustion pulled at her. Through half-closed eyes, she caught the quick glances he cast toward the window between lines.

“Father?” The word came out slurred.

“Yes, little fox?”

“Will you… finish…”

“Of course.” He bent to kiss her forehead. “The clever mouse had one last trick to play…”

Sleep took her then, the story fading into unconsciousness. Through the fog, she heard the careful tread of her father’s boots as he crossed to the window, then the quiet click of her door as he left.

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The door creaked open, and the scent of lavender drifted into the room. Ember watched through half-closed eyes as her mother Sarah sat on the bed beside her. Familiar fingers began their nightly path through her hair, each stroke bringing her closer to sleep.

Her mother’s humming started as it always did - barely audible at first, then growing into the lullaby Ember had known all her life. The street noise from below faded away, leaving only the gentle tune and the flicker of candlelight.

Ember blinked slowly, taking in her mother’s copper hair catching the light, so similar to her own. She wanted to stay awake, to hold onto the quiet comfort of their ritual, but exhaustion tugged at her.

“Mother?” she murmured.

Sarah’s fingers continued their steady rhythm. “Yes, love?”

“Why did you name me Ember?” The question slipped out, one she’d wondered about all day.

Her mother’s hand stilled for a moment before resuming its path. When she spoke, her voice was soft with memory.

“You were born during the winter festival,” Sarah said. “Every house in Aldermere had fires burning against the cold. The whole city glowed that night.”

Ember shifted closer, and her mother’s free hand found hers beneath the quilts.

“The smoke from all those hearths rose into the darkness,” she continued, her voice catching. “Thousands of bright specks floating up into the night. I’d never seen anything like it.”

Sarah’s voice softened further. “We named you Ember hoping you’d carry that same resilient warmth within you. A light that could push back the darkness.”

Sleep was pulling harder now. Ember felt her mother’s kiss on her forehead and leaned into it instinctively.

“My precious girl,” Sarah whispered. “My beautiful Ember.”

The gentle stroking of her hair continued, accompanied by the soft notes of the lullaby. Ember drifted off to the familiar comfort of her mother’s presence, not knowing it would be their last night together.