With Ariana taken care of, his attention shifted to Melon, who sat on the bed, fighting off sleep with frequent yawns. Holden stroked the child's hair, murmuring, “It's bedtime for you too.”

Sleepy-eyed Melon reached out, wanting a hug.

Holden, seeing the kid struggling to stay awake, felt a tug at his heartstrings. He gently scooped up Melon and located the children's room, setting him down softly.

But as Holden was about to exit, Melon's little hand latched onto his leg. Despite his fatigue, the child held up a storybook.

“Mr. Mask, will you read me a story?"

Holden sighed deeply, rubbing his face, then nodded.

"Alright, let's hear a story," he agreed, settling beside Melon on the bed.

Even on the brink of sleep, a smile tugged at Melon's lips as he nestled closer to listen.

At one point, drowsy but still attentive, Melon murmured, "Your voice sounds just like my Daddy's."

That gentle observation made Holden smile softly.

It struck him that lately, he'd been in a role reminiscent of a father figure to Melon, trying to build trust and connection.

Yet, he wasn't about to unpack that with Melon right then. He was drawing breath to continue when Melon, with eyes half-closed, added, “You don't just sound like him, you know. You look Like him too."

That gave Holden a pause.

Melon had made a similar comment when they'd first met. Holden had brushed it off then, attributing it to a child's imagination.

Hearing it again now, though, a mixture of curiosity and doubt bubbled up inside him.

He voiced his thoughts, asking, “Really? How much do I resemble your dad?"

Melon, pondering the question, replied, “Quite a bit. Do you want to see a photo?"

Melon slid off the bed and ducked underneath, pulling out a hidden iron box.

He carefully lifted the lid to unveil a variety of trinkets, each seeming to have its own story.

Digging a little deeper, he pulled out a photo neatly wrapped for protection.