Page 107 of Dalla's Royal Guards

The sudden ping of his computer brought him back to the present. He glanced at the screen, where a swarm of pixelated bugs danced merrily across the display, forming a candy cane, then a snowflake. A slow grin curved his lips.

The bugs burst like fireworks and disappeared. News headlines flickered across the top of his screen.

Six months since the wedding of the Al-Rashid brothers to direct descendant of Dalla Bogadottir, the Warrior of the Sands...

Harlem leaned back, exhaling slowly. The headlines didn’t surprise him anymore. But they still made him feel... something.

“You’re brooding again,” a bright, teasing voice announced.

He released a dry chuckle and turned.

There, materializing in a holiday-themed shimmer of merriment was a very sexy RITA decked in a dazzling ensemble, complete with Candy-cane-striped heels that sparkled, a mistletoe brooch, and a velvet red dress that glowed under the antique lights and ended at mid-thigh.

Harlem chuckled, finally sipping his bourbon. “Does FRED know you’re wearing that outfit? And… I don’t brood. I reflect.”

“Reflect, my circuits,” she scoffed, arms crossed in mock disapproval. “You’ve been hiding in this museum of yours since you got back. It’s practically Christmas. Even Debra’s loosening up.”

“Debra?” he arched a brow.

“She’s doing great—thank you for asking. CIA Director now. Handled her first intergalactic meeting like a pro. Cosmos even complimented her.”

Harlem whistled low. “That’s saying something.”

RITA strolled toward his desk, her eyes catching on the holiday cards neatly stacked near his monitor. She picked up one from Raja and Idella.

“Still not going to visit them?”

He took the card from her gently, his hand staying over it. “I’ve spoken to them.”

RITA tilted her head. Her expression softened. “You’re allowed to want more, Harlem. Even after everything.”

He didn’t answer. Not with words.

She stepped back, giving him space, then stilled, her head tilting slightly as if listening to a frequency only she could hear. Then she smiled—a serene, knowing smile.

Harlem’s brow furrowed. He closed his eyes, a familiar thrum echoing in his chest. A shift in the world.

When he opened his eyes, the digital bugs on his screen shimmered like gold, swirling sand around a new report.

He rose slowly, eyes lifting to the portrait above.

His gaze didn’t leave it as he whispered, “Another has returned.”

His voice was reverent. Soft.

Behind him, RITA’s holographic form shimmered warmly.

“Yes,” she said. “But this one’s different.”

Harlem nodded, swallowing the emotion in his throat. “Yeah. I can feel it.”

As he stepped into the hallway above, the lights of the city twinkled outside the narrow windows—alive with the magic of winter and the promise of things unwritten.

Harlem reached for his coat.

It was time to stop hiding.

It was time to live again.

Somewhere out there, the universe shifted again?—

waiting.