They cleared the gates of the capital like they were sliding back into a role Chris hadn't asked for but wore anyway: consort, diplomatic asset, and visible target.
The diplomatic house waited, prepared for them down to the angle of the curtains.
Chris stepped inside and felt… nothing.
Not nothing-nothing. Just the absence of the thing his body had been reaching for since the convoy left Saha.
Rowan watched him take it in, quick and quiet, then asked, practically. "You want to see the courtyard? Get settled? Food first?"
Chris opened his mouth, then shut it again, like the answer annoyed him.
Dax, beside him, glanced over. "What."
It wasn't a question. It was Dax reading the shift in his breathing through the bond and deciding he didn't like it.
Chris exhaled through his nose. "I want to go home."
Rowan blinked. "We are home. We're in the capital."
Chris's eyes narrowed like Rowan had personally offended him. "This isn't my home."
The hallway went very still.
