The room was quiet again.
The mana lamps had dimmed on their own, leaving the space wrapped in a soft, amber glow. Trafalgar lay on his back, Mayla curled against him, her head resting on his chest. Her breathing had slowed, steady and warm, rising and falling in time with his heartbeat. One of his arms rested loosely around her shoulders, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns against her skin.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The tension from earlier had faded, replaced by a familiar stillness, one that only came when there was nothing left to prove. Mayla shifted slightly, adjusting her position, then lifted her head just enough to look at him.
Her eyes were calm. Searching.
"So…" she said quietly. "What really happened?"
Trafalgar did not answer right away.
He stared at the ceiling for a moment, gathering his thoughts, choosing his words with care. Then he turned his head to look at her.
