The day was three-quarters gone, the sun a pale, diffused smear behind the unending blanket of grey clouds. Paola stood in the yard, letting the warm rain plaster her hair to her skin and trace paths down her face. She tilted her head back, eyes closed, just feeling it. On the porch, Poca sat on the top step, her hands folded in her lap, watching her with a fond, patient expression. From inside the house, the clatter of pots and the low murmur of Ayla and Yasmin’s voices making dinner drifted out, a comforting domestic sound.

  “Yucca should have been back by now,” Paola said, her voice soft. “The sun’s going down.”

  “Evan and Selene are wiz her,” Poca replied, her accent a gentle melody. “Zey probably found a library or a back-alley negotiation. Zey will be here. Do not worry.”

  Paola sighed, opening her eyes to look over at the golem standing sentinel by the garden gate. Carter, a silent statue of polished wood and reinforced metal, his body built like a blacksmith’s fantasy. His face was a smooth, carved mask, his hollow eyes and a smile that was far too wide and permanent giving him an air of unnerving cheerfulness. He was going to stay behind, along with Oso, to watch over the farm.

  “I’m still not sure how I feel about leaving Oso with him,” Paola admitted, walking closer to the porch.

  “Carter will protect him,” Poca said simply. “And ze farm. He is… very dedicated.”

  “He’s a wooden puppet with a superiority complex,” Paola countered, though there was no real heat in it. “What if he decides Oso’s mud-tracking is an affront to his sense of order and tries to discipline him?”

  Poca laughed, a bright, genuine sound. “Zen Oso will sit on him. And Carter will learn humility.” She patted the step beside her. “Besides, he cannot get on ze airships. We would have to pay for an extra ticket. A very, very large ticket.”

  “Or charter a cargo crate,” Paola joked, climbing up to sit beside her. “He could stand in the corner and look imposing.”

  “Zat is all he does anyway,” Poca smiled. “What are you doing, standing in ze rain like zat?”

  Paola leaned back on her elbows, letting the drops hit her stomach and chest. “Just… appreciating it,” she said, a small smile on her lips. “The quiet. The not having to fight for my life every five minutes. It’s nice. But I have a feeling it’s not going to last much longer.”

  Poca’s expression softened. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on Paola’s knee. “You do not have to stop fighting completely, you know. Zat bear of yours keeps us more busy zan a whole squad of guards. He is a good substitute for battle.”

  Paola perked up at that, a genuine laugh escaping her. “He really is. A furry, four-legged natural disaster.”

  “It is crazy, isn’t it?” Poca said, her gaze drifting towards the house. “All of zis. I remember when Yasmin first got here. All fire and sharp edges. We butted heads so much. I thought she would burn ze whole place down, and she thought I was… what was it she called me? A ‘creepy doll witch’.”

  Paola chuckled. “Sounds like her.”

  “And now look at us,” Poca mused, her voice filled with a warm wonder. “She sleeps next to me every night. Her hand on my chest like it belongs zere. We are a family. A strange, broken, beautiful family.” She squeezed Paola’s knee. “And you are ze heart of it, mon chaton. Always have been.”

  Paola’s ears twitched, swiveling on her head to catch the distant sound. It wasn’t the rumble of an airship or the tread of a lone traveler. It was the rhythmic creak of wooden wheels and the low murmur of voices. Arguing, definitely. A small chuckle escaped her lips. She rose from the porch steps, grabbing her dark cloak from the railing and swinging it around her shoulders. She was always the last one to cover up, a final, reluctant concession to the world outside their haven.

  She leaned against the wet wood of the railing, her tail flicking with anticipation. A moment later, the wagon came into view, trundling down the muddy road. It was pulled by a sturdy horse, and walking alongside it were Selene, Evan, and Yucca. The wagon was large, stacked high with crates and supplies. That was… significantly more than they needed.

  As they drew closer, Paola’s eyes narrowed. It took her about four seconds to zero in on Evan. He was in a new cloak, a deep, dramatic black that flowed around his skeletal frame. And leaning against his shoulder was… a scythe. A long, curved blade on a dark wooden shaft, the very picture of death himself. Why… why a scy-oh. Oh. He was mimicking the Grim Reaper now.

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  Evan pulled the hood back, revealing his smooth, bone-white skull. He met her gaze across the yard, and Paola knew she’d eventually learn to interpret the subtle shifts in his blank stare, but for now, it was just… a stare. His shoulders slumped, a gesture of profound disappointment.

  “I don’t get it?” he asked aloud, his voice a hollow, melancholic echo. “The scythe? The cloak? It’s thematic.”

  Paola’s lips slowly curved into a wide, mischievous grin. “Oh, I get it,” she said, her voice light. “Death, the Harbinger of Peace. It’s a great look.”

  Evan’s posture straightened instantly, a skeletal hand coming up to adjust the scythe with newfound pride. Then he paused, processing her words. His shoulders slumped again. “Wait. If you get it… why didn’t you have a reaction in the first place?”

  “Because I was processing,” Paola laughed. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  The front door of the house swung open, and Ayla and Yasmin stepped out, wiping their hands on towels. “Well, look who finally decided to come back,” Yasmin called out, her voice a mix of teasing and genuine relief. “And with enough supplies to start our own small kingdom.”

  Yucca sighed, a long-suffering sound that was entirely for show. “Blame Selene.”

  “Hey!” Yasmin protested, but Yucca ignored her, continuing in a deadpan tone.

  “She decided the bartering process was too subtle. So she re-negotiated. With her fists.”

  Selene didn’t even bother to look up from checking the straps on the wagon. “They tried to rob me,” she stated, her voice flat and unapologetic. “I adjusted the terms of our transaction to reflect the inconvenience.”

  Yasmin snorted, walking to the edge of the porch to get a better look. “See, Ayla? That’s what I call aggressive haggling.”

  “A highly inefficient method of commerce,” Yucca added, turning to Yasmin with a serious expression. “It damages long-term trade relationships and introduces unnecessary volatility into the local economy.”

  Yasmin rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Oh, here we go. Lecture time from Professor Yucca. Can’t you just admit it was cool?”

  “It was not ‘cool’,” Yucca countered, her lips twitching. “It was a flagrant misuse of hand-to-hand combat skills for financial gain. Which, while effective, is ethically dubious.”

  “Ethically dubious is my middle name,” Yasmin shot back, grinning.

  “It is not,” Yucca said, her voice losing its serious edge and softening into something more familial. “I’m your sister, I know that personally.”

  Paola watched them, the easy back-and-forth, the shared history in their jabs. It was another piece of their strange, perfect puzzle. The argument in the distance had been just another form of communication. They were home.

  Paola chuckled, shaking her head as she descended the porch steps. “No, but seriously, what do we have here?”

  Evan, his mood restored by the successful delivery of his joke, proudly patted one of the larger crates. “Supplies! Yucca is excellent at procurement. Selene is… excellent at renegotiating.”

  Yucca stepped forward, already prying open the lid of a crate with a small, enchanted tool. “We acquired a variety of goods. Approximately fifty percent of this is suitable for our journey to Helios.” She lifted the lid to reveal neatly bundled packets of dried rations, coils of high-quality rope, water skins, and medical supplies. “Standard fare. Efficiently packed.”

  Selene, meanwhile, used her mithralite hand to wrench the top off another crate, the splintering wood a sharp contrast to Yucca’s delicate work. This one was less organized. It was filled with an assortment of random, high-quality goods: bolts of fine silk, a case of expensive-looking wine, intricately tooled leather belts, and a small chest filled with silver cutlery.

  Paola raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think we need silk napkins to survive the sunlit city.”

  “They were… part of the deal,” Selene said, her tone implying the discussion was over.

  Yucca sighed, picking up a bolt of shimmering blue fabric. “This is a stockpile of goods. Oversold to merchants, likely stolen from previous travelers. The quality is high, but the origin is dubious. In a way,” she conceded, glancing at Selene, “your methods were… justified.”

  “We can use this stuff,” Poca said, coming down from the porch to examine the contents. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the silk. “Oh, zis is beautiful. I could make charms wiz zis. And ze leather… I could reinforce Oso’s new harness.” She looked at the other crates. “Leave ze rest. I will find a use for it. Nothing goes to waste here.”

  With everyone gathered around the makeshift trove, the mood shifted to practicalities. “So, final plans,” Ayla said, her arms crossed as she took charge of the conversation. “Tonight is our last night here. Tomorrow, we do final preparations, and we head for the airship at dusk.”

  Paola’s ears perked up. “Dusk? I thought it was at dawn.”

  Yucca gave her a small, patient smile. “I corrected the itinerary this morning, Paola. The dusk merchant vessel is more reliable and less scrutinized by the Solarian customs agents. It is a smarter choice.”

  A wave of relief washed over Paola so strong she almost felt dizzy. Not having to wake up and force herself into a pre-dawn march felt like the greatest gift imaginable. “Oh, thank the gods,” she breathed, earning a chuckle from Yasmin.

  “See? Even Harbingers of Chaos aren’t morning people,” Yasmin teased.

  “So Carter and Oso are holding down the fort?” Ayla asked, confirming the last piece of the plan.

  “And the servants the duchess is sending over,” Poca confirmed. “They will be here by morning. Carter will keep zem in line. And Oso will… keep zem on their toes.”

  “An immovable object and an unstoppable force of furry chaos,” Evan mused. “They should be fine.”

  As they began to sort the supplies, separating their travel gear from Poca’s new crafting materials, Paola felt a sense of finality settle over the homestead. This was it. The last night of warmth and rain and mud before they stepped into the blinding, uncertain light of Helios.