The journey back to Silverhaven was quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that meant peace. The kind that meant everyone was too tired to speak, too drained to process what had happened, too overwhelmed to find words.
Lucian arranged it without discussion. A thought, a will, a gentle push against reality, and they were simply... there. Standing in the courtyard of Althea's keep as the sun rose over the familiar stone walls.
Althea blinked at her home like she was seeing it for the first time. "How did you—"
"Later," Lucian said. "Rest first. Questions after."
No one argued.
Lucy refused to let go of Althea's hand. They walked into the keep together, Marc limping beside them, Silas silent and watchful. Reia and Vyn leaned on each other, still disoriented from their time in the void. Alistair hung back, uncertain of his welcome, until Lucy glanced over her shoulder and gave a small nod. He followed.
Lucian watched them go.
Then he turned and walked to the garden.
