The soft rhythm of a silver spoon clinking gently against the porcelain bowl filled the quiet room. It was a slow, steady sound—unhurried, almost tender—as Kyle scooped warm porridge and lifted it toward Yvienna's lips. The faint steam curled into the air, carrying a mild, comforting scent that wrapped around them like a blanket.
Kyle was still feeding her.
Patient. Careful. Devoted.
His eyes never left her face as she ate, watching every small movement of her jaw, every subtle change in her expression. There was something almost reverent in the way he did it, as if even this simple act mattered more than anything else in the world.
Midway through another spoonful, Yvienna paused.
Her brows knitted together, confusion flickering across her features as she slowly looked up at him.
Kyle noticed immediately. He lifted a brow, lips curving faintly.
"Hmm?"
