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God, I love her.

The portal stretches like molasses around us, a slow-motion descent through layers of broken magic and disobedient gravity. Time’s fucked in here—melting at the edges, dragging every second out like it wants to watch us squirm. I’ve already sniffed armpits. Already been slapped. Already declared this the worst-smelling corridor of interdimensional travel I’ve ever been sucked through.

And now, I’m bored.

Naturally, I decide to entertain myself. I shift my grip on Luna, which is risky in a physics-defying space like this—but I’ve never been risk-averse. I twist our bodies mid-descent, fluid and deliberate, until I’ve got her angled just right. Her legs tangling with mine. Her back pressing flush to my chest. And yes, her ass... settling right over a very clear indicator that I’menjoyingthis new arrangement.

“Silas,” she says warningly, voice like gravel and honey, but I pretend not to hear her over the windless roar around us.

“I’m just being practical,” I murmur, mouth right beside her ear as I lock my arms around her waist. “It’ll cushion your fall.”

She snorts—soft and sharp—and I feel it, that familiar warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with her existing. But I don’t give her time to call me out on it. That would be far too sentimental for a guy currently using interdimensional plummeting as an excuse to grind against his soulmate.

“I’d rather be the one to break my back than have yours even bruised,” I add, quieter this time. Less joke, more truth. And gods help me, she hears it.

I feel her breath still. Just for a second. Like she’s caught between biting back a smile and telling me to fuck off for making this about something real.

She settles against me anyway. And fuck, if that doesn’t make this feel like the first time all over again. My hand drifts over the curve of her hip, not possessive, not even teasing—just there, grounding us both while everything else warps around us. I could float in this moment forever. The way her body fits into mine. The way she doesn’t push me away. The way I get to have her, even just like this, while the world around us forgets what shape it’s supposed to be.

“I swear, if we land and I’ve got a concussion from your dick imprinting on my tailbone,” she mutters, dry and biting, “I’m letting Riven punch you.”

“Worth it,” I whisper.

And I mean it. Every second like this? Always worth the bruises.

We don’t land so much asget rejected.

The portal coughs us out like we’ve offended its digestive system, a violent, magical upchuck that spits us straight onto the cracked, overgrown stone of the Academy’s eastern courtyard—our courtyard. The one they used to call the Execution Field, back before we decided to use it for picnics and very illegal midnight sparring matches. It still stinks faintly of old power and blood. So yeah—home.

I hit the ground first. Hard. With Luna still clutched to me like the world’s most irreplaceable carry-on, and her elbow immediately driving into my ribs as she scrambles upright.

“Next time,” she growls, brushing dirt off her thighs, “I’m landing onyouon purpose.”

I groan beneath her. “Thatwason purpose. I have a spinal fracture and a boner. Which one do you want me to complain about first?”

She glares at me, then snorts. And that snort? That’s the sound I’ve missed. That soft little hitch in her throat that tells me she’s still here, still real, still mine. Gods, the Hollow tried to twist her, rip her in half, but she came through it like she always does—glorious, pissed off, radiant in the aftermath.

Around us, the others crash down in a scatter of limbs and curses. Elias lands in a lazy sprawl like he’s drunk on air, hands behind his head like he planned it. Riven comes down in a crouch, already scanning for threats. Caspian’s still clutching that damn whip like it’s a lifeline. Lucien hits the ground with all the grace of a vengeful god—and immediately stands likethe fall offended him. And Orin? That fucker doesn't even hit the ground. Hestepsout of the portal like gravity never meant anything to him, his boots barely whispering as they touch down.

“Dramatic,” I mutter, watching him dust off his coat like he’s emerging from an afternoon nap, not a plane of eternal fuckery.

My gaze slides back to the academy, to the crumbling spires and ghost-lit windows. It's quieter than I remember. More... still. Like even this place forgot how loud we used to be. The vines that devoured the east wing during the Branwen incident are still pulsing faintly. That’s probably a problem. One we’ll deal with tomorrow.

Luna stands in the middle of us, hair tangled, dirt smudged across her jaw, power still humming along her skin like the Hollow didn’t quite let go. She looks at the academy like she half-expects it to vanish. Like this—this moment of return—might just be a trick of the Hollow’s dying breath.

I step up behind her, close but not touching, because if I put my hands on her right now, I won’t stop. And there are still too many wounds open between us—between all of us—that need time, not tongue.

“Home sweet hellhole,” I murmur.

She turns her head slightly, meets my eyes.

“Yeah,” she says. “But it’sours.”

And gods, I love her for saying that. Because it is. This cursed place, this graveyard of power and pain, it belongs to us. It’s where we were ruined and reborn. And maybe—just maybe—it’s where we start again.

Somewhere behind us, Elias groans. “I’m too pretty for interdimensional trauma. Somebody carry me.”

“You’re walking,” Luna and I say at the same time.