At the stroke of two in the hushed embrace of night, Kyrie stirred from his restless slumber, concern at the edges of his awareness. His eyes, adjusting to the dimly moonlit room, fell upon Selene nestled beside him, her form small and fragile, her breath soft and even.

“What?” he frowned.

Selene, in her innocent daydream, held a teddy bear with a fervor that belied its comfort. Kyrie, recognizing the source of his discomfort, gently disentangled the plush companion from her grasp.

He shifted Selene away from him with the gentle care of a guardian mindful of her fragility. The realization that his slightest movement could endanger the child nagged at him, prompting him to cradle her as if she were the most delicate of porcelain dolls. With a delicate touch, Kyrie lifted her, her tiny head finding repose on a soft pillow.

Attempting to reclaim the solace of sleep, Kyrie found his restless mind refusing to sleep. A subtle thirst called him from the comforts of his bed, guiding him to get a glass of water from the kitchen.

Upon his return, a yawning Selene greeted him.

‘She's going to start crying or something,’ Kyrie's thoughts echoed in his mind, worry dancing in his eyes, but instead, Selene regarded him with a measured gaze, her small hand rubbing her big eyes. Kyrie nestled beside her on the bed.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping with Tshaya?” he asked.

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"Is Mama Tshaya your mom?" Selene's innocent question filled the space between them, her voice a sweet melody in the quiet night.

"Not quite, little one. Tshaya is a friend," Kyrie murmured, enfolding her in the comforting cocoon of a blanket. "Rest now."

Curiosity bloomed within Selene, her unfiltered words piercing the veil of night. "Where is your mom?" she asked.

Kyrie frowned, an unspoken ache stirring in the recesses of his heart. "My mother is far away," he replied.

The gentle cadence of Selene's muffled giggle filled the room. "My mommy talks to me every night."

“Your mom?”

"Mommy is tall and beautiful. She has gray eyes and the longest white hair I’ve ever seen!"

Kyrie frowned. According to Tshaya, Selene's mother was a brunette Spanish girl with green eyes who had died by her own hand.

‘Who is she talking about?’ he wondered. A knot tightened in Kyrie's throat at her words as the conflicting narratives clashed in his mind.

"Mommy comes to me when I sleep," she giggled. "She cradles me in her arms and kisses me here," her small hand traced a path to her forehead, a radiant smile illuminating her features.

"Does Tshaya know about her?" Kyrie furrowed his brow. His eyes delved into hers as if trying to read her mind.

"Mama Tshaya and Papa Marko don't know. Mommy told me not to tell anyone... So, please don't tell anyone else!" she pleaded, her small hand reaching out to grasp his arm, her eyes wide with trust.

"I won't tell anyone else," Kyrie assured her.

"You promise?" she asked, her head tilted to the side like an inquisitive puppy, seeking the reassurance she so desperately craved.

"I promise," Kyrie smiled as she flung her arms around him in a tight embrace.

"It's time to sleep again," Kyrie whispered, gently guiding her head back to her pillow. With a tired yawn, she surrendered to the embrace of slumber, her breathing soft and steady as she drifted off into dreams.

As Kyrie lingered by her side, guilt gnawed at his conscience after knowing her secret.

“Her mom?” Kyrie whispered before falling asleep.