In other circumstances, it wouldn't have been that unusual of a morning; Layla often woke before Jamie, especially when the school semester had let out, but these were, decidedly, not other circumstances. The boy she held was just that: a boy, one without any memories of the island upon which they woke, nor the girl who held him. As he drifted awake, liking the feel of fingers in his hair, he cracked open one bleary eye, and shifted a little to get more comfortable, dimly realizing, in that place between dreaming and reality, that this was not his bed, but not yet able to work up the concern such a fact should inspire.

In a small voice, he asked, "Mom?"