The celebration had finally ended.
By the time they left, the night had already deepened, and the streets that had felt so crowded a few hours earlier had thinned into something calmer. The city had not gone silent, but it had softened. Fewer voices. Fewer footsteps. More distance between one group and the next. The kind of hour when even lively places began to exhale.
Trafalgar walked with the others toward the station, but not quite beside them.
Xavier, Cynthia, and Bartholomew were a little farther ahead, their voices drifting back now and then in uneven fragments. Zafira had fallen into step next to him instead, close enough for quiet conversation without forcing it. The distance between them and the others was not large, only enough to make the moment feel separate.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
