she looked up with wide hazel eyes when she heard her dad's voice. "hm. more like 'i'm about to figure out the entire world or die trying'," she quipped back. she felt the tension in her muscles relax a fraction with his proximity.

"hey i didn't create this reality. just trying to make sure i know how to live in it," she answered. she looked up at her dad with tired eyes. "i think you already know the answer to that, dad," she added softly. she gave a small smile. at least she came by the neurotic ocd honestly.

josie huffed. she hated that most of what was out there was rumor. "well then what's the point of all this being in the library if it's just gonna be rumor?" she asked with a pout. "i'll definitely take some help from the research master. had to learn from somewhere."

“Yeah,” he said quietly, nodding once. “That tracks. Whole world, no pressure.”

He pushed off the table and pulled out the chair across from her, turning it sideways before sitting — casual, non-confrontational, still very much not leaving. His forearms rested on the back of it as he leaned in just enough to be present without crowding her space.

“You didn’t create this reality,” he agreed. “But you’ve always been the one who tries to map it so no one else has to walk in blind.” A beat. “That’s not a bad instinct, Jos. Just… an exhausting one.”

At her pout, he huffed a small laugh through his nose. “Ah. See, that’s the trick.” He reached out, tapped one of her books lightly with two fingers. “Libraries aren’t about certainty. They’re about context. Patterns. The stuff that lets you tell the difference between a bad rumor and a dangerous one.”

His gaze softened as it settled on her face — the tiredness she tried to power through, the way she always carried a little more than she should. “Rumors tell you what people think is happening. Old texts tell you what’s happened before. Somewhere in the overlap is the truth.” He tilted his head. “Or at least enough of it to keep people alive.”

He reached for a pen this time — deliberately, asking permission with the pause before he picked it up — and flipped open a notebook between them. “Rule one of research,” he said gently. “You don’t start with everything. You start with the question you’re actually afraid to ask.”

A glance back to her, eyebrows lifting just slightly. “So,” he said, voice low and steady, “what is it you’re really trying to understand tonight?”

josie smiled softly as he pulled the chair out and plopped down in his very him kind of way. she let out a soft sigh. "no. i didn't. but i mean...i don't want the people i care about walking around blind. if i can figure out at least some things and help my people, i will. i didn't get the battle instincts. beyond the ones that you drilled into our head from the beginning. i'll leave that to hope. but i can do this," she offered. "and maybe it's exhausting but i'm willing to do that."

she gave him an unimpressed look. "library are literally about facts, daddy," she teased him. "i know, i know. why do you think i came armed with a hoard of notebooks?" she replied. she nodded when he reached for a pen, letting him know he was good to help in whatever way he wanted.

"why? why bring two whole realms that haven't had anything to do with each other together?"

"A coping mechanism is teaching you to throw things?" He cocked an eyebrow at the dagger she produced from her pocket, but before he could comment further she had shifted gears once more to the topic to machinery. "Tall one...?" He questioned, but shook his head once - dismissively, "I don't know whether it can or not. I know there have been some people around town trying. Whether or not they've had any success I don't know. I know we haven't made much progress at HQ." He muttered the last bit and rolled his shoulder at the punch to his arm.

"What's the big deal anyway? So you don't have your car or phone or whatever. Is that really the end of the world? You don't see me panicking because I can't use my phone..."

she rolled her eyes. "keep up, kinzhal. i'm attempting to find a different coping mechanism. fixing up engines was how i coped and kept control. now with no fuel, engines are rendered a little more useless and i don't have as much material to work with. i mechanic. that's who i am," she said firmly, tossing the dagger in the air before catching it. "oh shocker triad failing. well let's go find someone who knows more then," she said with a nod.

"i don't care about the phone....okay that's a lie. but i'm not stressing about not having a phone. fixing engines is what i need."

He just sighed — the kind that came from the chest instead of the throat — and nudged the crumpled paper back toward her with the toe of his boot like it had personally offended him.

“Yeah, that tone stopped working on me years ago,” he said easily, unbothered, familiar in a way only family-adjacent people ever were. “You used it on my dad once and he still made you finish your homework.”

He crouched to pick up another balled sheet, smoothing it out between his hands without asking permission. The lines were messy, frustrated — mechanical shapes trying to become something they weren’t ready to be.

“You’re not bad at other things,” Darius continued, glancing up at her through his lashes. “You just hate being a beginner. There’s a difference.”

He dropped into the chair across from her like he’d done it a hundred times before — because he had — kitchens, garages, the back room of Rousseau’s when they were both pretending to be adults too early.

“And you don’t actually want me to go away,” he added. “You want me to argue with you until your brain stops chewing its own tail.”

A small, crooked smile tugged at his mouth.

“Classic Mikaelson coping mechanism. My mother calls it ‘emotional arson with witnesses.’”

He tapped the paper lightly against the table.

“What are you trying to replace the shop with this time? And don’t say ‘nothing.’ I’ve seen you rebuild an engine with three tools and spite. You don’t do empty.”

she rolled her eyes. "yeah yeah. i know. you and your dad are impossible. that homework never got finished since i still don't have a GED," she quipped back at him.

"beginner sucks. it's like being a toddler all over again. having to learn things like they're a brand new language," she huffed slightly.

"shut up....maybe i don't. but don't let it go to your head," she chuckled half heartedly. "not sure that my brain ever shuts up, actually. why do you think i'm always talking?" she half teased.

"look. mikaelsons are definitely their own breed. and even if your dad and i are adopted...doesn't mean like doesn't know like, huh?" it was one of the reasons she felt a sort of kinship with marcel. they were both chosen.

"visual art. which, if you look closely, i'm horrible at. i'm starting to think that i'm gonna have to actually look for someone smart enough to come up with a fuel just so i can get back to what i'm actually good at."

Kolton found Artemis sprawled on the workbench like it was her personal command center — tools scattered, something half-taken apart in front of her, focus locked in so tight the rest of the room might as well not exist.

He paused in the doorway, watching for a second, then clicked his tongue.

“You know,” he said lightly, “if that explodes, I’m legally required to say I told you so.”

He crossed the room and leaned a hip against the bench, careful not to touch anything she was working on. His eyes tracked the pieces with quiet interest, not judgment — just curiosity.

“Hey, Artie.”

He picked up a loose bolt, rolled it between his fingers, then set it back exactly where he’d found it.

“Is this one of those projects that starts with ‘I have an idea’ and ends with everyone pretending it was always supposed to look like that?” His mouth curved into a crooked smile. “Because those are my favorite kind.”

Kolton shifted, folding his arms loosely, gaze flicking back to her face.

“I’m not here to supervise,” he added. “I’m here to appreciate the chaos from a safe distance. And possibly steal snacks if you have any.”

A beat. Softer.

“You want commentary,” he asked, “or silence and moral support?”

she hadn't really expected anyone to find her banging around in the garage with an engine that didn't work but she looked up when she heard someone in the doorway.

"it's not going to explode. it doesn't even work. but i acknowledge your legally required duty," she quipped back.

she offered a small smile. "hey kolt. did you get sent this time to check on the mentally battered wild card this time?" she asked. several members of her family had been checking on her recently. and she didn't blame them. she was still a bit of a mess.

"not this time. this is the red head has finally lost her mind in trying to take apart and put back together an engine that doesn't work cause she can't figure out anything else to do with the obvious adhd energy she has," she answered.

"hey now. you have to earn snacks around here. you know i'm protective of the snack hoard."

"i wouldn't be opposed to some company."

Really listened—the way he did when someone trusted him with something that wasn’t finished yet.

When she leaned a little closer, he didn’t comment on it. Didn’t shift away. Just let the space between them adjust naturally, like it was supposed to be that way. The shadows stayed quiet. The storm in his chest eased another notch.

At her mention of her mom, a corner of his mouth twitched. “Smart woman,” he murmured. “Knows when to veto the nuclear option.”

He glanced at her when she laughed—actually laughed—and there was something openly fond in his expression this time, no attempt to mask it with humor.

“Strength,” he said easily, answering her earlier uncertainty. “The honesty thing. Hurts sometimes, sure. But it means when you say something, people don’t have to wonder if you mean it.” A beat. “I respect that.”

When she talked about engines—about her dad—Darien’s attention sharpened in a different way. Not predatory. Not strategic. Just… present.

He turned his body more fully toward her now, forearm still braced on the railing, head tilted slightly as if to better hear her over the city’s hum.

“Engines make sense,” he said quietly. “They’re loud about what’s wrong. Something rattles, something stalls, something burns out—there’s always a cause.” His gaze drifted back out over the horizon. “And if you fix the right part, the whole thing runs again.”

He paused, then added, gentler, “That sounds like a good thing to share with someone. Especially if it was the only place you met in the middle.”

Darien shifted his weight, the movement unhurried.

“Losing something like that?” he continued. “Yeah. That’ll knock the air out of you. Not because it was a hobby—” he glanced at her briefly, making sure she knew he meant it “—but because it was a language. One that only the two of you spoke.”

The wind tugged at his hair, cool against his jaw.

“You don’t have to know what fills that space yet,” he said. “You don’t have to replace it. Hell, you don’t even have to touch it tonight.”

A faint, crooked smile.

“But if you ever want to take something broken apart just to see how it works—no expectations, no fixing required—” he shrugged lightly, “I’m very good at wreckage.”

He looked back at her then, steady and unpressured.

“And I’m not going anywhere.”

she let out a chuckle and nodded. "she's the smartest woman i know," she agreed. "i'm dramatic. nuclear tends to be my go to."

she couldn't help the slight pink in her cheeks as he looked at her. "well i'm glad you think so at least. i mean i had to lie a lot when i was on the streets but now that i'm with my family i really try not to. i'd much rather be honest now. even if it sucks," she said softly.

she nodded. "they definitely make sense to me. exactly. though i've definitely been psychoanalyzed about that. with my rough upbringing, something with a simple fix is comforting. or whatever it was," she replied, fiddling with a piece of hair.

"i wasn't a planned baby. so my older sister was their golden child. so it was really the only thing that we could bond with with or whatever. and it was the only thing that made sense after they died. i mean we didn't get along and i'm not really sure my mother liked me but it flipped my world upside down so mechanics was the only thing i could do to keep grounded."

"i'm just scared," she admitted in almost a whisper. "it's what i used when the ripper got too much. i'd lose myself in it and the ripper calmed down. and i mean...i know that's what we were working on but it still freaks me out. not to mention i just loved doing it."

she gave a crooked smile back.

"i'm glad you're here. really glad. you have no idea how much."

at the mention of crocheting, riley barked out a laugh. “oh my god, i knew it. i can see it now—rage-crocheting, snapping needles like they personally betrayed you.” she shook her head, grin softening. “you’re not screwy. you’re grieving. and grief makes everything feel like it’s stripped down to useless parts.” she reached out, nudging the crumpled paper back toward artemis with two fingers. “you don’t miss mechanics because it was the only thing you were good at. you miss it because it made sense. cause and effect. broken thing, fixed thing. world quiets down for five minutes.” her voice dipped, steadier. “losing that doesn’t mean you lost yourself. it just means you don’t have the engine yet.”

riley leaned back on her heels, eyes bright with stubborn certainty. “and yeah. i’ll help you find one. magic, junk, dumb projects, illegal side quests—whatever. we’ll build something. maybe not a car. maybe it’s just… something that hums right. something that clicks.” a crooked smile. “and if all else fails, we can absolutely weaponize your vamp skills and my terrible ideas.” then, softer, but unyielding: “you don’t get to decide you’re useless while i’m in the room. house rule.” she tapped the paper once. “now c’mon. pick it up. or don’t. but i’m not going anywhere—and you don’t have to pretend you’re okay for me to stay.”

"yeah it was pretty much a mess. definitely broke needles. and they did personally betray me. cause it's got to be the needle's fault that i sucked, right?" she asked, a tiny grin on her face. it was impossible to be completely sulky around riley. she never allowed her to stay down too long. "well you know what, i've had enough grieving in my life. i'd like to be done now," she quipped. "well then how do i find something else that makes sense? what else can i fix? cause it's certainly not people. i'd make the world's worst therapist," she asked.

"i knew you would. you're my ride or die. plus the idea of you and i finding chaos together is kind of just what we do. just...sucks that i won't be able to go driving again too. you know how much i loved that," she admitted softly. "oh just when you're in the room? like you don't have a radar for me having negative thoughts about myself?" she asked with a knowing look. she scrunched her face at the paper. i don't think artist is on the list of things that will help me not have rage."

He stopped a respectful distance away, boots planted solid against the stone. The glow from the Court’s horizon threaded silver and indigo through the lines of her sketch, catching briefly on the edge of the page.

“You always did choose your seats with care,” he said, voice low, carrying that old, unhurried cadence. “Close enough to shelter, far enough not to be claimed by it.”

He did not look over her shoulder — that would’ve been rude, in the old ways. Instead, his gaze traced the sky she was copying, the way the stars bent near the Court’s edge.

“The Night keeps watch over its wards,” Thorval went on after a beat. “Not kindly, perhaps — but faithfully. Dragons remember that sort of bargain.” A pause. “So do I.”

He shifted, resting one broad hand against the bench’s back, not sitting, simply anchoring the space.

“You look steadier than you did in the camps,” he said, not softening the truth, but offering it without weight. “Still searching, aye — but not adrift.”

At last, his eyes found her face, calm and familiar.

“If the word home sits ill on the tongue,” Thorval murmured, “there’s no shame in letting it rest. Some places are not homes. They are harbors. Others are hearths. Few are both.”

The Night Court breathed around them, watchful but permissive.

“You’re safe here, Adelina,” he said, quiet as an oath. “By old accord. By newer promise. And by my word, if it still carries any worth.”

she finally met his gaze with a soft smile. "you're a philosophical as ever, val. but yes. i suppose i'm a bit steadier here. there aren't quite as many people ready to have my head at the first misstep. or my wings i suppose is more accurate. it's a little easier to relax here," she admitted. though she never fully relaxed. she hadn't been trained that way.

"hm. home has always been a double edged sword of a word. i suppose home has always been the people who care more than a place. but i suppose this place feels as close to what i imagine a home feeling like," she admitted with a nod.

she gave him a soft smile. "i know, val. of course your word carries worth. and i'm glad you're here with us."

But the city had been running hot tonight, little pulses of warmth tugging at him like someone striking a match in his chest. The compass tattoo on his forearm had been doing its subtle tilt, point, urge thing, and he’d learned not to ignore it unless he wanted trouble to find him anyway.

So he followed it. And it led him… here.

He spotted her before she saw him—head bowed over a fortress of notes, pens already lining up like troops. Determination hanging off her shoulders like a weight she didn’t have the energy to put down. He knew the look. People trying to understand the world usually wore it right before they broke themselves in the process.

Jax cleared his throat gently so he wouldn’t spook her. “Careful,” he said, voice soft but warm, “if you highlight too aggressively, the books start fighting back. Library folklore. Pretty sure it’s a real thing.”

He gave her a small, crooked smile as he stepped closer, keeping respectful distance from the table but close enough she could actually hear him over her brain going a hundred miles a minute.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, nodding at the empty chair across from her. “My instincts dragged me in here like I was supposed to find something important—”

He glanced at her piles: FAE, MERGE, ANOMALIES, EVENT CROSS-REFERENCES. A low whistle left him.

“—aaand I’m guessing it’s you.”

He lowered himself into the chair without touching anything on the table. “Research mode, huh? What’s got you digging this deep?”

Then, softer, like he already knew it was heavy: “Something happen?”

"the books definitely can start fighting back. but thankfully i generally know how to charm them so behave. then again, i'd never actually highlight a library book. only my notes," she chuckled.

she blinked but nodded. "yeah of course. sure," she replied, gesturing to a seat. josie tilted her head. "haywire instincts? wait why would they want you to find me?" she asked.

"usually. it's kind of my forte. basically grew up in the library. but my sister has always been more of the social butterfly of the two of us," she admitted.

"i need to understand," she answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "i mean if we understand the new culture introduced to us, then we can navigate it better. plus something had to have caused all this. i mean a whole entire realm doesn't just merge with ours just to say hello. but it would take some serious magic. and i just can't figure out what the motivation is for bringing the fae here. or even merging new orleans and mystic falls in the first place. and now that i think about it, merging the two towns might have just been a trial run for bringing the fae here. but why is the question dangling just out of reach....am i rambling?"

Didn’t crowd her either.

He just shifted his weight so the angle of his body matched hers, boots steady on the cracked glass, one forearm resting loosely against the railing like the drop below wasn’t worth acknowledging. The shadows at his feet settled—less restless now, like they recognized her presence and decided to behave.

His gaze stayed forward for a beat after she finished speaking, storm-gray eyes tracking the distant glow of the city while her words landed where they landed.

Then he exhaled, slow and quiet.

“Hey you,” he said back, softer than the way he usually said her name.

He glanced down at her hand on the railing, then back up to her face—not clinical, not possessive. Just attentive.

“You don’t owe me an apology,” Darien said. “Disappearing when the world pulls the rug out from under you is… pretty on-brand for people who actually feel things.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “If you’d shown up pretending everything was fine, that would’ve worried me.”

At her question, he let out a low huff of a laugh.

“No,” he said. “If I’d done something worth you being pissed at me, you’d already have hit me. Or at least threatened it.” A beat. “You’re very honest that way.”

He turned his head fully toward her then, eyes intent but unguarded.

“And yeah,” he admitted, unapologetic. “I do tend to make people face things. Occupational hazard. Comes with the whole ‘training you to survive’ gig.” His tone softened again, less teasing. “But I never force it. You know that.”

When she said she’d just come to see him, something eased in his posture—subtle, but there.

Darien reached up, bracing one hand against the railing above and slightly behind her—not boxing her in, not touching, just there. An anchor, if she wanted it.

“Restless doesn’t always mean danger,” he said quietly. “Sometimes it just means something important went missing and your body hasn’t figured out what to do with the space yet.”

He tipped his head, studying her expression—not trying to read her mind, just reading her.

“So,” he murmured, voice low but warm, “we don’t have to train. We don’t have to fight. And I promise I won’t make you unpack anything you’re not ready to touch.”

A pause.

“But if you want to stand here and let the night pass for a minute—” His gaze flicked to the horizon, then back to her. “—I can do that. I’m very good at staying.”

she moved carefully, far more gracefully than normal. as if she were rock hopping on a river. she was sure that if they fell, he would have no problem since he was a winged being. and she knew that he'd catch her.

she felt calmer than she had in awhile standing next to him on a deathtrap old bridge. she watched the city with him, just...existing for a minute.

she offered a small smile when he greeted her back. something soft, just for the two of them to share.

artemis let out a small chuckle. "you know, i feel like i knew you'd say something like that. mm. pulled the rug out from under me. pretty apt description for how i was feeling, honestly. how i'm still feeling. well that was the back up option, and an option that i have taken before. but my mom said no so here i am," she replied. her sarcasm was a little muted but there. the only way she knew how to deal with things.

she let out a real laugh, soft but real, at that. "you know me well already. look at you. i totally would have though. mm. sometimes i don't know if it's a flaw or a strength," she admitted.

"oh is that what you've been doing with me? interesting," she joked, shaking her head. "yeah you do. but i don't always mind it. you're pretty honest yourself. which i like. no. you don't," she replied, looking over at him.

she moved with him, leaning slightly into his space as he moved around her. she felt safe and calm in his space. anchoring her in a rare way. a way that she wanted to keep.

she nodded. "yeah. definitely missing something, that's for sure," she breathed. it was harder to admit it. to put it into words. to make things real.

artemis hummed softly as she looked back out at the horizon. the days still started and ended the same. everything had changed and yet it still came and went. "you know, my dad is the one who taught me everything i know about engines. how to take it apart, put it back together, figure out what's wrong and fix it. it was the only thing that we ever seemed to connect on."

riley leaned against the nearest surface, posture loose but eyes sharp, locked on artemis in that way that meant she wasn’t going anywhere. “you’re not bad at everything else. you’re just bad at pretending you don’t miss the one thing that made your brain quiet.” a beat. softer, but still steady. “and that doesn’t mean you’re broken. it means you’re a mechanic without an engine right now.” she shrugged, offering a crooked half-smile. “so no, i’m not leaving. but i will sit here and be annoying until you stop acting like the only thing you’re good for is grease and gears.” then, tilting her head, smirk returning just enough to tease, “or we can rebuild something dumb together. i’m great at dumb. terrible at useful. you’ll feel right at home.”

she knew that riley wasn't going anywhere until the red head smiled or chuckled for at least 5 minutes straight. or didn't give off the aura that she was about to throw someone through a wall. whichever came first. "should have seen me try crocheting," she quipped. "maybe i'm just bad at pretending. i dunno, riles. i think i'm pretty screwy inside at the moment. think you could find me an engine that works? maybe work some siphon magic? i miss mechanics, riles. the one thing that i was really good at. and maybe i don't suck at everything else. but everything else just makes me...well....," she gestured to the crumpled piece of paper. "please. i know you're not going anywhere. you're too stubborn for that."

“Adelina,” he said with a grin, sea-bright and unapologetic. “You’re about one sentence away from convincing people I cultivate trouble on purpose.” He remarked with candid amusement. “Though I won’t deny, some of it does make life sweeter. A little danger keeps Summer honest.”

He tipped his head at her mention of Night, expression sobering just a touch without losing its warmth. “Aye, lass. Moonlight sharpens where sunlight burns,” Ronan agreed. “Night teaches endurance; Summer teaches excess. Both leave scars if you’re careless.” His gaze lingered on her wings again, respectful rather than proprietary. One never truly got used to an Ecosian's wings - nor those of their feather-winged kin.

At her question, he hummed thoughtfully, eyes drifting toward the horizon where heat shimmered over water and sailcloth. “Recently?” Ronan said lightly. “I’m celebrating the fact that familiar faces are finding their way home again.” He glanced back at her, smirking smile returning. “And perhaps the rare pleasure of spotting a Meadows daring enough to steal Summer air without asking permission. Perhaps I should yell at you to 'get off my lawn' as aged mortals are prone to?”

"who? me? no. i would never mess with the high lord's reputation in such a way. merely suggesting that i was not alone that one time when the drinks got spiked at some meeting," she teased with a wink. "well what fun is there in always following such arbitrary rules? a little danger is what some people need."

"mm. i do suppose the moonlight needs the sunlight. i do believe almost anything leaves scars if you're careless. though scars can bring lessons and stories to tell. and doesn't the summer love a good story?" she asked lightly. her wings flared slightly before she tucked them towards her back.

"well i'm going to take that as you're celebrating me and that requires a drink. and don't try to tell me you don't have anything. i know better," addi teased with a wink. she jumped down from the rail, letting her smaller stature settle beside his. a sign of trust. even if she was trained to take down anyone, giving up her advantage was an olive branch in most cases. "it's not stealing if you're not mad about it. and we all know that i am absolutely daring enough. i'm not as bound by politics as my brother. yes they do love their lawns, don't they?" she asked playfully.

"I don't know, maybe? Your family's large enough to be its own sports team." He rolled his eyes some. "There's... hockey. I think." He stated awkwardly and cleared his throat some. As she explained about her dilemma in a world with busted machinery, the hunter pursed his lips in quiet thought. "Why not try to learn something from the fairies?" He asked simply and found a sturdy enough support to lean against.

"There are a couple places in town, I think, that have got some smaller machines working again. Nothing complex or fancy, from what I've seen or heard, though. But they do... something... with the magic that Valaria permeates the area with. I think. I don't really know - all that's above my pay grade." He shrugged.

artemis couldn't help but let out a louder laugh than she planned. "i mean...you're not wrong. we could probably do whatever sport we wanted with all the mikaelsons wandering around, huh? you really want the original gang of mikaelsons playing hockey of all things? one of the more violent sports?" she asked with raised eyebrows. she blinked. "i'm cycling through potential coping mechanisms. plus one of them is already teaching me how to properly throw shiny pointy things," she replied, pulling the pretty dagger she'd earned from darien.

she paused and blinked up at him. "tall one say what now?" she asked deadpan. she set the sketchbook aside and stood up. "you mean to tell me that fae magic can bring back machines?" she asked. artemis lightly punched him in the arm. "you couldn't have led with that?!"

yeah. violet knew that version of her. had known it since addi was small enough to hide behind kaidan’s cloak and pretend she wasn’t scared of the dark corners of their world.

she approached without fanfare, heat rolling off her in soft waves as she came to stand beside the bench. didn’t sit right away — she’d learned, long ago, that addi talked more when she didn’t feel cornered.

“you’re drawing the wrong stars,” violet said quietly, eyes flicking to the page. not judgment — familiarity. memory. “the Court’s horizon slants lower on this side. you’re sketching it like the camps.”

a beat, softer. “you only do that when you’re thinking too much.”

violet finally lowered herself onto the bench beside her, close enough to be presence, not pressure. the air warmed immediately between them, a quiet counter to the chill that always seemed to seep out of the Night Court’s perimeter.

she glanced sideways — golden eyes catching the lanternlight, expression gentler than most ever got from her.

“home’s a mess of a word,” she murmured. “believe me, i get it. the Court isn’t home. the camps weren’t home. and the world we came from…” she exhaled through her nose. “it’s gone. even for dragons.”

her gaze dropped to the sketchbook again, watching the lines addi had drawn with something almost protective.

“but you’re not sitting here because you’re lost,” violet added. “you’re sitting here because this is the closest place your heart still recognizes.”

then, after a moment — quieter:

“want company while you figure the rest out? or should i just sit here and pretend i’m not worried about you again?”

and of course it would be one of those few people who found her like that.

addi paused in her sketch, realizing that the dragon was correct. she'd memorized so much of the night sky that she didn't really need to see it to draw it. addi let out a sigh. there were few people that she didn't put on her mask for. but violet...they were close in age. had practically grown up together. it was hard to truly hide with someone who had seen so many different sides and phases. "guess you caught me, huh?"

the blonde finally looked up to watch the dragon take up residence in her space. well enough in her space to feel the warmth at least. violet always seemed to know where the physical line was. she let out a sigh and put the sketchbook to the side.

"it's a complicated word. but i think the longer you live, the more complicated it gets," she admitted. "guess it makes sense as to why they say that the people closest to you are home," she added. she hummed in agreement. "familiar, i guess."

addi gave the other a small smile. "you know your company is always welcome, vi. but aren't you always worried about me?" she asked with a light chuckle.

At her questions, his mouth tugged into a crooked smile. “Small fae exist,” he said. “They’re just smart enough not to volunteer for monster duty.” He gestured vaguely toward where the creature had vanished. “Every Court’s got its own flavor; same bones, different appetites. Some hunt blood, some magic, some emotions.” There was a small pause as Cael's brow furrowed. “Vamping?” He questioned - unfamiliar with the term.

When she called him the mentor, Caelius snorted, unmistakably amused. “That pain in the ass?” He shook his head, fondness cutting through the gruffness. “Yeah, he’s a good teacher; stubborn, reckless, and irritatingly earnest. I taught him the fundamentals and how not to die; the rest he figured out by refusing to listen.” His eyes lifted back to Artemis, appraising but not unkind. “You keep your feet under you, trust your instincts, and don’t let him show off too much. He’ll be thrilled you said that - and insufferable about it for days.”

she nodded. "mhm. i earned it," she said proudly. that first lesson would probably stay a fond memory. and she'd fight for her pretty dagger.

she tilted her head, listening to him talk about the courts. "so what was that one hunting?" she asked curiously. "just cause i've always been too curious for my own good." she raised her eyebrows at him. "like, uh, hm. like this," she said, vamping so that she was behind him. "super speed i guess."

she chuckled. "yeah that...sounds about right from what i've seen so far," she replied. "kind of my match when it comes to stubborn and reckless. but i guess that's half the fun," she told him. "i dunno. pretty good at getting me off my feet. but it's been fun learning. insufferable...yeah probably."

“oh, my darling girl,” she breathed, voice thick with a grief that wasn’t pity — it was recognition. “of course you’re scared. of course you feel lost. when you’ve held onto something your whole life — something that shaped who you thought you were — losing it feels like losing yourself.” she pressed another kiss to her temple, gentler this time. “but you are not gone. you are not empty. you are not less.”

she drew back just enough to frame artemis’s face between her hands, brushing her thumbs along wet cheeks, forcing her to meet her eyes — blue to blue, unwavering. “you want to know who you are without it?” she whispered. “you’re my daughter. you’re your father’s daughter. you are kindness and fire. you are every hard thing you survived and every soft thing you allowed yourself to feel despite it. that hunger, that edge you carried for so long — it wasn’t the whole of you. it was a shield. and shields can break. people don’t.”

rebekah’s voice softened even further at the mention of iris, tenderness mixing with protectiveness. “and as for your sister… sweetheart, she’s meeting you. the you who fought her way back from something that should’ve destroyed her. she’s not losing anything — she’s getting the woman you’ve grown into.” rebekah leaned in, forehead against her daughter’s, breath mingling. “you do not owe her the girl you were. you only owe her honesty. she will love you enough to meet you where you stand or she will bloody well hear an ear full from me about it.”

she pulled artemis back into her chest, arms wrapping around her again, a cradle made of steel and softness. “and listen to me very carefully,” rebekah murmured into her hair, her voice that rare, unshakeable maternal command. “you will not be lost again. not while i breathe. not while this family exists. if you don’t know who you are right now — fine. then you’ll learn it here. with me. with your father. with your sisters and your brother. day by day, piece by piece.” she stroked a hand down her back, firm, soothing. “i’ve been lost more times than i can count, and every single time, someone pulled me back. so let me be that for you now. let us be that. because you are not alone, artemis. not anymore. not ever.” after a beat, soft but sure. “you make sense to us too, sweetheart. more than you know.”

it still managed to amaze the redhead how rebekah was able to articulate exactly what she was feeling. like she reached down deep inside and it put the mess and tangle of emotions to put into words. she assumed it was a mom thing. she let out a small whimper against her mother's shoulders. there were only a few people in the world that she allowed herself this vulnerability. rebekah had been the first.

her eyes were wide and begging for an answer as rebekah held her face. her lip trembled as she listened to her. daughter. kindness. fire. "there's a lot of hard things," she pouted slightly. "will you be my shield for now?" she whispered.

of course her mother was right. it wasn't like she wasn't still that girl. she was somewhere....deeeep inside at this point. but she'd gained a lot since she'd last seen her. she'd gained a family, hope, strength. she was able to stand on her own two feet now. artemis couldn't help but chuckle at her mom's threat. "well she's definitely not ready for that," she replied adoringly.

artemis let out a sigh of relief, able to relax for a moment wrapped up in her mom's arms. to her, it was the safest place in the world. nothing could hurt her or get to her when she was wrapped up in the arms of her mom. she nodded, telling her mom that she was listening. she smiled to herself at her mom's tone. full of conviction and fire and love. everything artemis had wanted all her life. she swallowed thickly. "i know momma," she breathed. "okay. as long as it's you and dad and them. you're the ones i trust to put me together again," she admitted.

Not in the way people usually noticed one another—not a glance, not curiosity—but in the subtle disruption of a space that had settled into rhythm. A chair pulled out and pushed back in. The particular cadence of someone preparing to stay.

He closed the folio he’d been annotating with a soft, decisive press of his fingers and rose from the long table a few rows away, footsteps unhurried as he approached the edge of her workspace. He stopped just short of intruding, careful not to cast a shadow over her notes.

“You’re preparing for an extended engagement,” he said calmly, voice low and precise, pitched for libraries and long attention spans. “Multiple ink colors, analog cross-referencing. That suggests synthesis, not skimming.”

A pause. Not a judgment—an observation.

“The recent material is… inconsistent,” Theo continued, eyes briefly tracing the spines of nearby books—mythology, emergent histories, misfiled folklore—before returning to her. “Post-Merge accounts, especially where fae are concerned, contradict themselves depending on who survived to write them.”

He inclined his head slightly, a gesture of courtesy more than warmth.

“Theodore Lexington,” he said. “Occult history. If you’re trying to understand what happened rather than merely catalogue it, you’ll want to start with the sections everyone avoids. And you’ll want to ignore the dates.”

Another beat, measured.

“May I ask,” he added, “whether you’re researching because you’re curious… or because something doesn’t feel right yet?”

she hadn't been prepared for someone to enter her space. usually people tended to avoid her when she was in full research mode; multiple notebooks, pens in several different colors, highlighters, the works. she tilted her head as she looked up at him.

"usually. i have a permanent spot in the library at this point. anyone who's usually here avoids this table. especially when i end up with stacks. i sometimes can get a intense with my research," she admitted.

josie let out a small huff. she'd barely started and already some of the material wasn't to be trusted. even if she knew going in that it wasn't going to be an easy subject. her cheek twitched slightly at the word merge. she imagined it would always have a sour spot in her mind.

she tilted her head. "josie saltzman. occult history. i want all of it. fae structure, the collision, everything. perfect. that means no one will have checked it out. mm. dates don't interest me. i want to understand not just memorize information. always hated that about history," she chuckled.

she thought for a moment. "both. there has to be a reason that this happened. i mean a whole new species to me at least is definitely enough to peak my curiosity but...something doesn't feel right," she admitted.