His mom gave one final snip, her fingers steady, eyes focused. Then, almost offhandedly, she said, "And don't worry about them trying anything. If they do… you can just kill them. That wouldn't be too hard, now would it?"
Draven blinked. "Yeah… I guess so," he said, uncertain.
She smiled suddenly. It wasn't the warm, comforting smile he grew up with. It was calm… almost pleased.
*Damn,* Draven thought. *I suddenly feel uncomfortable.*
Still smiling, she added, "But honestly? I don't think they've got the guts." There was a spark behind her words—something cold and sharp, hidden beneath the softness of her voice.
*What did she do to them?* he wondered.
She brushed the loose hair off his shoulders, and as she stepped back, the shadowy scissors in her hand slowly faded into nothing. She clapped her hands lightly. "All done! Now my baby looks so handsome!"
Draven rose slowly from the wooden chair beneath the pergola, tucked away in the heart of the garden. The late morning sun bathed everything in soft gold. Flowers bloomed in quiet rows around him, and a gentle breeze moved through the open beams above, rustling the vines. It was peaceful—almost too peaceful.
He brushed off his shirt, stretched casually, then ran a hand through his hair with a confident smirk. "Yeah, I know," he said under his breath. "I'm ridiculously handsome." He let out a soft chuckle. "If I had a mirror right now, I'd probably fall in love with myself."
Then he paused. The wind shifted.
A familiar voice drifted in from behind him—sweet, warm, too calm. "Come here, honey," his mother said softly. "Let Mommy give you a big hug." She stepped into view with a bright smile, leaning in with a playful *mwah!* kissing sound.
But Draven didn't budge. He shifted slightly, then in a flash, dodged to the side and flipped out of her reach, landing a few meters away with ease. He turned his head, smiling. "I knew you were going to do that," he said. "But you're not going to catch me. Not this time."
His mother stopped in her tracks. For a moment, her smile lingered. Then it faded. She dropped to her knees in the grass, her expression shifting from playful to hollow. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, her voice cracking. "My baby's all grown up now… he doesn't love his mommy anymore?"
She looked up at him, vulnerable and broken, tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice trembling in a way that made the warm air suddenly feel heavy. "If my baby doesn't love Mommy anymore..." she whispered, her voice thin and fragile, "...then Mommy is going to die."
The garden grew still—too still. The wind stopped, the sunlight felt distant, and for a moment, time itself seemed to hold its breath.
Draven's jaw clenched tightly. His hands curled into fists at his sides. His chest rose and fell faster as he stared at her with glowing red eyes, thinking, *Dammit, she's doing it again.*
He snapped, his voice rising sharply. "Stop acting so dramatic."
She looked up at him, blinking in confusion.
He pointed a finger at her, shaking his head with a grin. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm not falling for this again!"