The deck came alive as the ship settled fully into the harbor. Ropes were secured, the gangplank prepared, voices overlapping in that restless, familiar rhythm that always followed the end of a long voyage. Noel stayed where he was for a moment longer, letting the others move first, watching the way life resumed around him in small, ordinary ways.
Garron was the least subtle about it.
He paced near the railing, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake weeks of tension out of his body all at once, eyes locked on the dock as if his will alone could make it appear faster beneath his boots. "I swear," he muttered, then louder, "if she's not there, I'm walking straight to her place."
Elyra shot him an amused glance while adjusting the clasp of her cloak. "You say that like she hasn't been counting the days," she replied. There was a lightness in her voice that hadn't been there when they left. Not relief—confidence.
She had earned it.
