It wasn't a meeting.
Aria made that clear the moment the others filtered in—one by one, wary, curious, pretending they weren't waiting for instructions.
She didn't stand at the head of anything. She sat on the counter, legs crossed, eating an apple.
"This isn't a comeback," she said before anyone could speak. "And it's definitely not a rebuild."
Someone frowned. "Then what are we doing here?"
She took another bite, chewed, swallowed. "Deciding whether we're family or strangers who happen to share scars."
That landed harder than any speech.
"No ranks," she continued. "No call signs. No chains of command."
Scar-Jaw crossed his arms. "And if something goes wrong?"
"We talk," Aria said. "We choose. We don't default to orders just because it's easier."
Noah watched their faces shift—confusion giving way to something like relief.
"And if someone wants out?" another asked.
"They walk," she said immediately. "No guilt. No consequences."
Silence followed.
Then Scar-Jaw exhaled slowly. "That's… terrifying."
She smiled faintly. "Good. Means you're thinking for yourself."
They looked at each other, people who'd spent their lives being told where to stand, who to watch, when to move.
Family wasn't safer.
But it was honest.
Aria hopped off the counter. "Decide on your own time. No pressure."
As she walked past them, she added, almost casually, "But if you stay, you don't answer to me. You stand with me."
No salutes followed.
Just nods.
And for the first time, that felt right.