"Something good?" Trafalgar leaned against the corridor wall, hugely pleased with himself. "When have I ever cooked something that wasn't?"
Aubrelle's mouth curved at the sheer nerve of it, the way it always did when he was being ridiculous and knew it.
She crossed the last of the distance to him. On her shoulder Pipin ruffled once and lifted off, winging away down the hall toward the warm noise of the others, taking her borrowed sight with him.
She didn't need it for this.
Trafalgar closed the gap and pulled her into him, and for a moment he only held her there, the road and the month and the whole cold length of that castle behind them both. She fit against him the way she always had, and for the first time since the mountain the weight on him lightened a fraction, just from the plain fact of her being warm and real and here.
"It's been too long," he said, low against her hair. "I missed you."
