The world didn't just stop; it dissolved. The hum of the security drones, the clatter of armored boots on the tarmac, and the salty bite of the island wind all retreated into a muffled, distant static. For Grace, the only thing that held any weight in the universe was the cool touch of Mable’s fingers against her skin and the scent of white lilies that seemed to cling to her pearlescent robes—a scent that didn't belong in this fortress of iron and ash.

  Grace didn't think. She didn't calculate. Every ounce of restraint she had built over three years of brutal training snapped like a dry twig. She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Mable in a crushing hug that lifted the healer off her feet. In a burst of pure, unadulterated joy, Grace spun her around, her laughter bubbling up from a place that had been hollow for far too long.

  It was only when the spinning stopped that Grace felt the heat of a hundred pairs of eyes. Knights, candidates from other schools, and even the stern-faced instructors were staring at the "Hurricane of the Forge" acting like an overexcited golden retriever.

  Grace set Mable down hurriedly, her face heating up. She suddenly felt clumsy, her long limbs feeling too large for her body. The realization hit her: she hadn't seen Mable in three years. What if she had become too refined? What if she didn't want this kind of rough, affection anymore?

  "Sorry," Grace muttered, rubbing the back of her head like a complete idiot, her gaze dropping to her boots. "I... I got carried away."

  Mable didn't pull away. She stood perfectly still, her blue eyes tracing every line of Grace’s face. She had known she missed her—the silence of the Void was a constant reminder—but she hadn't realized the sheer, physical scale of that absence until this moment. Grace had grown. She was a few inches taller than Mable now, her shoulders broader, her jawline sharper. But those dark eyes were the same—pulsing with a chaotic, charming energy that could pull anyone into its orbit.

  Mable’s gaze flickered to the girl from the Bastion who had been standing beside Grace. She saw the lingering look of adoration on the girl's face, the way she was still clutching the tissue meant for Grace’s cheek. A tiny, sharp prick of sourness—something cold and possessive—tugged at Mable’s heart. But then she looked past the girl and saw the third pillar of their childhood.

  "Caleb," Mable whispered, a soft, genuine smile breaking through her porcelain mask.

  Caleb stepped forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over them both. He didn't spin her, but his hug was brotherly and steady, a grounding force. "We missed you, Mable," he muttered into her hair, his voice thick with the kind of emotion he usually reserved for his training shields. "It was too quiet without you."

  Mable leaned into the embrace for a second before looking back at Grace. She saw the way Grace was still fidgeting, looking everywhere but at her. She’s still so dumb, Mable thought affectionately. Three years of becoming a lethal weapon, and she’s still a nervous wreck the moment I look at her.

  "I got your letters," Mable said, her voice soft but clear. "I’m sorry I couldn't reply"

  "It’s... ok. I mean, it’s alright... you must have been... busy," Grace started stuttering, her words tripping over each other.

  Behind them, Sasha’s jaw dropped. She had seen Grace stare down charging lions and trade insults with Silas without blinking, but here she was, reduced to a rambling mess by a girl in a white dress. Valin and Fin exchanged amused looks, but Caleb just smiled. He knew. Grace had always handed over her authority to Mable without even realizing it. She was a storm that only one person knew how to calm.

  Sasha felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment for her friend. You look like a giant fool, Grace, she thought, but before she could intervene, Rose stepped forward, her eyes wide.

  "Wow! Mable, you’re even more beautiful than I imagined," Rose teased, casting a sly glance at Grace. "Not bad, Hurricane. Not bad at all."

  "Shut up!" Grace hissed, nudging Rose sharply with her elbow. She turned back to Mable, trying to regain her dignity. "Ignore these idiots. They mutter nonsense when they’re hungry."

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  Mable’s eyes twinkled. her ears turning a deep, telltale red that she tried to hide behind her hair.

  She said Hello to others and reached out and snagged Caleb’s sleeve. "Come on. Let’s go somewhere we can talk."

  The three of them walked toward the edge of the secondary perimeter, away from the prying eyes of the schools. They found a small, stone-walled cafeteria meant for high-ranking visitors, currently empty as the morning roll calls were taking place.

  They sat at a corner table, the morning sun streaming through a narrow window. Grace and Caleb sat opposite Mable, their eyes fixed on her as if she might vanish if they looked away. They wanted to know everything—the Sanctum, the rumors of the game changes, and most of all, why she looked like she had walked out of a dream.

  "The rules are different this year," Mable explained, her voice dropping to a cautious tone. "The Chancellor didn't say why, but the Healers aren't just here to watch from the sidelines. We’re being integrated into the field teams for certain phases. It’s about 'total unit synergy,' they call it."

  She spoke about the Sanctum, the clinical halls, and finally, the Isolation Chamber—the Void. As she described the months of sensory deprivation, of trying to heal a core that refused to light up, Grace’s hand shot across the table, grabbing Mable’s.

  Grace’s grip was firm, her palms calloused from years of swordplay, but her touch was trembling with a raw, protective tension. Mable felt a flush of heat creep up her neck. For three years, she had lived in a world where touch was a medical necessity or a clinical exercise. This was different. This was Grace.

  Mable looked down at their joined hands. She had always known Grace was the most important person in her life, but as she had grown into a woman within the silence of the Void, she had finally found a name for the feeling. She saw the way Grace looked at her—the fierce, ungaurded affection—and she wondered if Grace felt it too, or if she was still the same "emotionally stunted" girl who only understood the world through a blade.

  "I’m fine now," Mable whispered, squeezing Grace’s hand back. "I’m stronger than I was. And I have plenty of time."

  Caleb cleared his throat, sensing the shift in the air. "I have to head back for the Bastion’s final roll call," he said, standing up and giving them both a knowing look. "I’ll see you at the Opening Ceremony. Don't be late, Grace. Silas will have your head."

  Grace waved him off distractedly. "Sasha will cover for me. She’s good at lying to the brass."

  Once Caleb left, the space between them felt both smaller and infinitely larger. Grace immediately took Mable to the food counter, piling a tray with whatever looked edible. She sat back down and started stuffing her face, her appetite returning now that the shock had worn off.

  "So," Mable said, resting her chin on her hand, her elbow on the table. She looked at Grace through her lashes. "What were you talking to that girl about? The one with the tissue?"

  Grace stopped mid-chew, her cheeks bulging. "Which girl?"

  She wasn't lying. The moment Mable had appeared, every other human being on the island had been deleted from her memory.

  Mable nodded toward the camp. "The one who was trying to... groom you."

  "Oh! The one with Caleb?" Grace swallowed hard, thinking back. "Something... I don't really remember. Just day-to-day talk, I guess."

  Mable didn't press her. She just sat there, watching Grace eat. She noticed the way Grace’s eyes drifted over her features. Grace was staring at her with a look that was almost trance-like.

  In Grace’s mind, a riot was breaking out. She looked at Mable—the baby fat was gone, replaced by an elegant, ethereal beauty. Those blue eyes were like a deep, calling ocean, and her lips... Grace’s eyes trailed down to Mable’s mouth. They look like rose petals, she thought. They must be so soft. Suddenly, Grace’s brain rebooted. You are garbage, she screamed at herself internally. Absolute soot-covered garbage! This is Mable! You haven't seen her for three years and your first thought is that her lips look soft? You're blinded by beauty, you idiot! She cursed herself, her face turning a shade of purple that matched her Luma-flare, yet she found she couldn't look away.

  Mable didn't ask why she was staring. She simply blinked softly, a playful, secretive light in her ocean-blue eyes. She knew exactly what Grace was thinking, even if Grace didn't quite have the words for it yet.

  A waiter approached the table, looking nervous in the presence of a Sanctum Healer. Mable looked up, her voice smooth and commanding. "Another round for my friend. And please, bring orange juice—with the pulp."

  Grace froze, a small, stunned smile breaking across her face. "You remembered."

  "I remember everything, Ace," Mable said, leaning in.

  Grace felt like she owned the world. The "Red-Eye" ghosts, the sabotage of the previous year, the scars on her leg—none of it mattered. Mable was here, she remembered everything, and for the first time in three years, the Hurricane finally felt like it was home.

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