{"Even the sea must sometimes wait, but that doesn't mean it forgets how to rise."}
Five days later
The room smelled like sea air and spiced tea. It was warm, soft in the way only Caelan's home ever managed to be, and not like the polished coldness of Fae Court halls or the unforgiving quiet of ancient woods. We were gathered loosely around the fireplace, the waves outside rising and falling like a distant lullaby. Caelan sat close to Morkai, their hands intertwined, their magic humming in soft, synchronized pulses that left the room feeling more complete.
Tharion sat beside me, and he had not said anything, but the bond that now pulsed quietly between us was undeniable. Something I was no longer pretending did not exist. Ysara sealed the space with a flick of her fingers and a whisper in a language older than most of the stones beneath us. "All right, it's time to have a serious talk."
