The next morning, Daisy woke to sunlight stretching across her bed, warm and gentle, almost the way last night had felt. For the first time in weeks, she hadn’t cried herself to sleep. Her mind wasn’t weighed down quite as heavily as usual, and that strange, quiet calm Harry had left her still lingered.

She lay there for a few moments, staring at the ceiling, replaying their walk back. The memory wasn’t loud or dramatic—just soft. The sound of their footsteps in sync. His hands tucked into his jacket pockets. The way he didn’t fill the silence with pointless chatter. It had been… peaceful.

That word felt foreign lately.

When...