The morning of July 20th broke bright and warm — one of those rare London mornings that looked painted in sunlight.
At the Livanthos townhouse, the front steps were already a portrait of barely contained chaos.
Suitcases — sleek, monogrammed, and charmed to weigh nothing — stood in precise lines beside the black town car. Pandora barked happily, her tiny tail flicking against Talora's ankle as she double-checked the packing list for the fifth time.
"Passports, tickets, wristbands," she murmured, eyes scanning the embossed folder.
Her mother looked amused. "You've turned into your father."
"Someone has to make sure we don't end up in Belgium," Talora replied crisply.
A sharp bang from the street made everyone jump.
A violet-and-gold Knight Bus screeched to a halt at the curb, shuddering once before its doors snapped open.
Out stepped Luna Lovegood, perfectly serene in a sunflower-yellow sundress and silver sneakers, her hair floating as if underwater.
Behind her, Xenophilius Lovegood emerged, beaming, holding her overnight bag and a small cage of dirigible plums.
"Morning!" Luna chirped, as though she arrived via triple-decker chaos every day. "The bus hit a lamppost, but it was mostly fine."
Talora grinned, rushing forward to hug her. "You made it!"
"Of course. Dad wanted to test a new anti-whiplash charm on the suitcases," Luna said dreamily. "It only exploded once."
Xenophilius offered a genial smile to the Livanthoses. "Thank you for inviting my Luna. I trust she'll return with all her limbs?"
Mrs. Livanthos, gracious even when startled, replied, "Absolutely — though I can't promise they won't all be covered in glitter."
"Excellent!" he said, bowing slightly before the Knight Bus vanished with a soft whoosh.
Across town, at the Gill residence, the driveway gleamed with luxury sedans under the morning sun.
Shya darted out of the house in a soft linen shirt layered under an oversized denim jacket, her kara glinting as she adjusted her Occamy Birkin's strap.
Haneera poked her tiny head out, already wearing her new pastel-pink Mickey ears.
"Mom! Dad! We're leaving!" she shouted, sliding into her sandals.
Her mother stepped out with a cup of chai, eyeing her daughter's baggy jeans and sleepy grin. "At least brush your hair."
"I did," Shya lied easily. "Last week."
Arya ran down the steps after her, clutching his worn-out copy of The Quibbler. "Is Luna Lovegood really coming? She's my hero! She found the Wrackspurt Nests!"
Shya smiled, tugging his turban straight. "She's coming. Be cool."
"I'm so cool," Arya said solemnly, clutching the magazine tighter.
At Grimmauld Place, Cassian Black adjusted his cuffs while Andromeda Tonks watched, equal parts proud and wistful.
"You'll behave, won't you?"
"Define behave," he said smoothly.
Before she could answer, a crack! signaled Roman's arrival — equally sharp in pressed linen, his travel case floating neatly behind him.
"Morning, Mrs. Tonks ," he said politely, bowing his head. "We're in your hands."
She smiled, taking each boy's arm.
"Hold on tight."
There was a rush of displaced air — and then they were standing at the Livanthos' front gate.
It was, quite literally, coordinated chaos.
Two drivers, two pups in matching travel carriers with tiny Disneyland tags, a dozen gleaming suitcases, and an overwhelming sense that this was going to be unforgettable.
The introductions blurred: Andromeda greeting the Livanthoses, polite smiles and practiced courtesies; Xenophilius waving cheerfully before apparating away.
Arya and Tristan were already comparing snacks.
"Look, Luna brought those fizzy popping beans!" Arya whispered reverently.
"She's so cool,"
Luna said to him sincerely. "I like your magazine."
He nearly fainted.
Cassian surveyed the luggage with mild horror. "Are we… moving to Paris?"
Shya elbowed him. "We're packing for options."
Roman grinned. "Or survival."
"Both," Talora said, perfectly composed. She handed the final envelope to her father. "We're set."
The sleek black jet waited at the private airfield, sunlight glinting off its wings.
A flight attendant bowed as they boarded, ushering them into soft leather seats and a cabin that smelled faintly of bergamot and magic.
"Fast passes?" Talora checked, flipping through a folder.
Henry responded "We will get wristbands at the park, all tied to your father's card."
Shya whistled. "That's one way to travel."
Pandora curled into Talora's lap, her tiny rose-gold Mickey ears slightly askew.
Haneera immediately jumped up onto Shya's seat, pawing at the window.
Roman settled across from them, running a hand over the smooth leather armrest. "So this is how Muggles fly."
Cassian adjusted his seat belt, deadpan. "I could get used to it."
"It's not Muggle flying," Shya said, flipping open the menu. "It's rich people flying. Different species entirely."
Luna leaned toward Arya and whispered, "Did you know planes are just glorified broomsticks with metal skins?"
Arya's eyes went wide. "That makes so much sense!"
Talora laughed softly, looking out the window as the engines purred to life. "Ready?"
Everyone nodded — even the pups barked.
The jet began to roll, sunlight flaring across the tarmac, the hum rising into a roar.
And as London shrank beneath them, seven children — magical, brilliant, ridiculous — leaned toward the windows with the same wide-eyed awe.
Shya grinned. "Next stop — Paris."
The jet climbed through the thin morning haze, the Thames winding below like a glinting thread of silver. The engines hummed steady, the cabin bathed in soft, diffused light that caught on glass and gold buckles.
Inside, everything gleamed — the faint perfume of leather, a quiet rhythm of air-conditioning, the steady ping of the seatbelt light as it flicked off.
Talora leaned toward the window, fingers pressed to the glass, the reflection of the clouds turning her eyes almost silver. Pandora snuggled against her leg, a tiny ball of white fur and rose-gold Mickey ears.
Across the aisle, Shya sat with one knee up in her seat, sketchbook propped against it, a pencil already dancing across the page.
She didn't draw the view — she drew them.
Cassian was still sitting too straight, perfectly pressed shirt uncreased, but his eyes were glued to the window.
Roman had started relaxed, all easy smiles and jokes, but somewhere over the Channel his grip on the armrest had tightened, and he'd gone quiet.
And Luna… Luna was pressed up against the window like she'd been born for the sky, hair floating in the cabin's breeze, eyes wide with delighted disbelief.
"You've read about it," Talora said softly, watching them, "but it's different when you're actually here, isn't it?"
Roman turned toward her, still slightly pale. "In the books it didn't move like this."
"It's lift and drag," Cassian said absently, almost reciting from memory. "The thrust counteracts gravity, air pressure difference—"
"Yeah," Shya interrupted, not looking up from her sketch, "but none of that explains how it feels."
He turned toward her, brow furrowed. "Feels?"
She met his gaze and smiled slightly. "Like this."
The jet hit a pocket of light turbulence — the kind that made the floor drop half an inch before recovering. Cassian's hand tightened, instinctive, and Shya's grin grew.
"See?" she said. "No spell. No control. Just trust and speed."
Roman groaned. "You're enjoying this."
"Absolutely," she said. "You're watching the world curve. How often does that happen?"
Arya, ever the composed little Gill, had reclined his seat slightly and was showing Tristan the route on a flight map.
"So the plane follows this exact arc — across the Channel, into Normandy, then overland to Paris. Takes about ninety minutes."
Tristan nodded, wide-eyed. "So fast. Our toy brooms don't go this high."
Luna leaned over the map, upside-down. "We're on top of the world," she murmured, tracing the curve with her finger. "No ley lines, no magic fields… just gravity and air."
Roman raised a brow. "You make it sound romantic."
"It is," she said simply, turning back to the window. "This is human magic."
The flight attendants returned with drinks — glass bottles of Coca-Cola, condensation beading down the sides, and a tray of warm chocolate croissants.
"Cheers," Shya said, twisting open her Coke and taking a long sip. The fizz hit her throat, the carbonation catching the light in her eyes. "Now that's the taste of adventure."
Roman copied her, taking a cautious sip — and immediately blinked as the bubbles hit. "It's like being electrocuted."
"By happiness," Talora said, smiling. "You'll get used to it."
Cassian tilted the bottle toward the window, watching the reflection of the clouds ripple through the glass. "You can't bottle this," he said quietly.
Shya looked up, pencil pausing. "No," she said. "But I can try to draw it."
An hour in, the plane had settled into a gentle rhythm.
Arya had fallen asleep with his magazine open across his chest, one earbud still dangling.
Luna was sketching tiny constellations in the condensation on the window.
Talora had traded her croissant for a packet of shortbread biscuits and was feeding small pieces to Pandora, who accepted them with polite dignity.
Roman and Cassian had both loosened — one draping an arm over the seat, the other leaning slightly forward to look out at the horizon where the light turned everything molten.
"Paris soon," Talora murmured, half to herself.
Shya nodded, flipping a page in her sketchbook. "New city, new chaos."
Roman grinned. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Oh, I live for it," she said. "But chaos deserves good outfits."
Cassian smirked faintly. "I'm sure you packed enough for all of us."
"Someone has to keep you from wearing the same three shirts," she said sweetly, and Roman nearly choked laughing.
When the captain's voice came over the intercom, warm and calm — "Descending into Charles de Gaulle, current temperature twenty-four degrees, clear skies" — the cabin seemed to collectively inhale.
Outside, clouds thinned into lace, and Paris unfurled beneath them in ribbons of light and shadow — the Seine flashing silver, rooftops terracotta and bright.
Luna pressed her face to the glass. "It's beautiful."
"It's old," Cassian said softly, not in disdain but awe. "You can see the history from here."
Talora smiled. "Wait until you're walking through it."
Shya leaned over her sketchbook, eyes following the skyline. "Now this," she said quietly, almost reverently, "is art."
Roman grinned. "Let's make some of our own."
The jet tilted gently, cutting through sunlight toward the runway.
Pandora stirred in her carrier, Haneera's ears perked.
Seven friends, two pups, and the world below waiting to be conquered — not by magic, but by wonder.
The jet touched down with a smooth, practiced glide, tires kissing the runway like a secret.
For a moment, no one spoke — the faint hum of the engines was all that filled the air.
Then Arya's voice piped up from two rows back.
"Are we here?"
Tristan blinked awake beside him, hair sticking up in every direction. "Did we miss the Eiffel Tower?"
Shya, stretching in her seat, laughed. "You'd need to open your eyes to see it, genius."
The younger boys both groaned in protest, collapsing dramatically back into their reclined seats. Pandora gave a soft, sympathetic whine; Haneera yawned so wide her tiny fangs showed.
Talora, smoothing down her braid, reached under the seat for Pandora's carrier. "Alright, everyone, time to look alive. Paris isn't going to admire itself."
"Noted," Roman said dryly, fastening his watch. "I'll do the admiring."
Cassian rolled his eyes but smiled faintly, gathering his satchel.
The door opened, flooding the cabin with warm summer air.
Paris greeted them with sunlight — bright, unfiltered, and a hint of lavender somewhere beneath the jet fuel.
The private terminal shimmered in the distance, all glass and pale stone, as Milos appeared at the foot of the steps, clipboard in hand and unflappable as ever.
"Welcome to France," he called up. "Henry's already loaded the younger boys' things — we'll be leaving in two minutes."
"Merci, Milos," Talora said as she descended gracefully, Pandora tucked safely in her arms.
Behind her came Shya, sunglasses on, hoodie sleeves pushed up, Haneera nestled in her carrier. "Milos," she said gravely, "under no circumstances will my child's paws touch this tarmac."
"Noted," he said without blinking.
Cassian, stepping out next, glanced over the heat-hazed expanse. "You know, in theory, this is just another city."
Roman smirked. "And yet you're staring like it's magic."
"It's human architecture," Cassian said simply. "That's a kind of magic too."
"Look at you, poetic," Shya teased. "Paris suits you, Black."
At the foot of the stairs, Arya and Tristan were still bleary-eyed but fighting to stay upright.
Henry crouched to fix Tristan's backpack strap before ushering them gently toward the second sprinter.
"Alright, lads," he said in that patient, no-nonsense tone. "You'll be with me. Naps are encouraged."
Tristan mumbled something incoherent that sounded vaguely like "croissants." Arya, still blinking against the sunlight, managed, "Can we stop for juice?"
Shya kissed the top of her brother's head as he passed. "Behave. Paris isn't ready for you two yet."
Arya grinned, still half-asleep. "Tell Luna hi when she wakes up."
"She's been awake," Luna said from behind him, her pale eyes wide and alive with wonder. "It's France. How could anyone sleep?"
Henry chuckled. "Into the van, Miss Dreamer."
The younger boys and Luna disappeared into the first sprinter, its tinted doors gliding shut behind them.
Milos gestured toward the second van. "And for the rest of you, your transport awaits."
The main group climbed in — Cassian and Roman on one side, Shya and Talora on the other,
Haneera and Pandora already claiming their laps like royalty.
The interior was all cream leather and faint vanilla scent, cool air whispering through quiet vents.
The city outside began to blur as they pulled away from the tarmac.
"Paris, at last," Talora said softly, watching sunlight streak over the highway.
Roman leaned closer to the window, fluent French slipping out under his breath. "C'est magnifique…"
"Wow," Shya said. "Actual sincerity. I'm honored."
"Don't get used to it," he shot back.
Cassian had gone quiet again, gaze fixed on the skyline — not the magical Paris he'd once known, but this vast, chaotic sprawl of stone and glass and life.
He murmured something in French that made Shya glance over.
"What was that?" she asked.
He looked back at her, half a smile on his lips. "Just that the sky looks different here."
She grinned, resting her chin on Haneera's head. "Good different?"
He considered. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Good different."
Talora leaned back, content, her fingers absently smoothing Pandora's soft fur. "I can't believe we're actually doing this," she murmured. "Disneyland Paris."
"First class chaos," Shya said. "You better believe it."
The van curved off the highway, trees giving way to manicured boulevards. And then, in the distance — like a dream unfolding — the pastel turrets of the Disneyland Hotel shimmered in the sun.
"Alright," Roman said, sitting up straighter, grin spreading. "Now this is my kind of magic."
Shya laughed. "Let's go see how the other half of fairytales live."
The vans rolled forward, the pups restless with excitement, the air buzzing with gold-hour light — seven kids and two hounds heading toward the happiest, most chaotic week of their young lives.
The motorway softened into a tree-lined boulevard, sunlight flickering through the windows like a film reel. Conversation had dulled into a comfortable hum — bits of laughter, the soft rustle of gift bags, Pandora's occasional sigh.
Then Milos spoke from the front seat.
"Just ahead, mademoiselles et messieurs."
The van crested a small rise, and there it was.
Disneyland Paris spread out before them — pastel spires, gold accents catching the light, music faint and distant like a memory.
The Disneyland Hotel stood at its entrance like a dream in pink and cream marble, its towers tipped with banners fluttering in the breeze.
Roman's jaw actually dropped. "Merlin's beard…"
Cassian gave a quiet laugh. "It's… extravagant."
"Understatement of the century," Shya said, leaning over to peer through the window. "It looks like someone bottled every fairytale and said, 'Yes, that. Make it expensive.'"
Talora smiled softly. "It's perfect."
The van turned onto the circular drive, gliding between manicured hedges and fountains that glittered under the golden hour sun. A uniformed doorman bowed as they pulled up, and within seconds, valets appeared as if conjured — doors opened, luggage tags shimmered, the world outside moving in polished efficiency.
"Alright, team," Shya said, shouldering her tote. "Remember to act normal."
Roman blinked. "Define normal."
"Pretend we do this all the time."
Cassian raised an eyebrow. "We do."
Shya grinned. "Exactly."
The moment they stepped out, the air shifted — cool and fragrant, tinged with pastry sugar and fresh flowers.
Somewhere nearby, faint violin music floated through the grand archway. The marble steps gleamed like poured cream.
"Bienvenue à l'Hôtel Disneyland," said the head concierge warmly, switching to English as he took in the group. "We've been expecting you."
"Of course you have," Shya murmured, earning a nudge from Talora.
Milos was already handing over documents, speaking in low French. Two butlers approached — tall, immaculate, with the kind of poise that made even Roman straighten his posture. They carried a tray of chilled lemon water and another of small butter biscuits dusted in sugar.
Pandora barked softly from Talora's arm, ears flicking at the scent. Haneera's golden eyes peeked from Shya's carrier, curious and sharp.
"Oh no," Shya said, backing slightly as the pups squirmed. "They smell carbs."
Talora laughed. "Don't worry. They have better taste than you."
Inside, the lobby unfolded like a palace — chandeliers dripping with light, gilt-edged mirrors reflecting the pink-gold sunset, the faint scent of vanilla and roses. Families milled around the grand staircase, children clutching Mickey balloons; but even here, space seemed to part subtly for them — the Gills and Livanthoses didn't blend, they inhabited.
The group paused just inside the entrance as a concierge approached with a polite smile.
"Welcome, Miss Livanthos, Miss Gill," she said. "Your father has arranged the Fantasy Suites for your party, adjoining. Private balcony access, in-room dining, and full concierge escort for all park entry and VIP privileges. Your wristbands are pre-linked to your accounts."
She presented them on a velvet tray — elegant white with gold threading, each one engraved with their initials. The girls' shimmered slightly, enchanted to adjust perfectly to fit their wrists.
Cassian turned his band over in his hand. "This is… muggle tech?"
"High-tech," Talora said, smiling. "It's how we get into the parks — and everywhere else."
"Everywhere?" Roman's grin turned sly. "Even the kitchens?"
"Especially the kitchens," Shya said. "You'll love the desserts here."
They crossed the lobby as staff swept past with luggage carts, the faint sound of piano drifting from the mezzanine. Arya and Tristan came bounding through the revolving doors with Henry trailing, both boys suddenly wide awake.
"Shya!" Arya shouted, waving his wristband. "It glows!"
"Of course it glows," she said. "You think we travel economy?"
Tristan craned his neck, taking in the soaring ceiling. "This place is huge."
"It's Disney," Talora said fondly. "It's supposed to be a little bit too much."
Luna, spinning slowly in the middle of the floor, eyes wide, whispered, "It's beautiful."
Cassian's mouth curved faintly. "Not Hogwarts, but close."
Shya grinned. "More pink. Less trauma."
Roman laughed outright. "You say that now."
Their butlers led them toward the elevator — plush red carpets muffling their steps. The dogs peeked from their carriers, small ears twitching at the glittering lights and distant laughter.
As the elevator doors slid closed behind them, Shya caught Talora's reflection in the mirror — her friend's soft smile, the golden light in her hair, the faint excitement that hadn't dimmed since they left London.
"This was a good idea," Shya said quietly.
Talora's eyes met hers. "It was the only idea."
The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to reveal the private suite hallway — white marble, gold fixtures, and the faint scent of fresh magnolias.
The connecting doors swung open with a satisfying click, revealing the two adjoining suites — a soft-gold dream of velvet, marble, and sunlight.
Talora stepped in first, her sandals clicking on the polished floor. "Okay," she breathed, "this is officially obscene."
"Obscene?" Shya echoed, following behind with Haneera in her bag. "This is what happens when capitalism and fairytales have a baby."
Cassian wandered toward the window. "I think that's the literal definition of Disney."
Roman gave a low whistle as he peeked into the shared lounge — all plush couches, gilt mirrors, and a chandelier shaped like a cascade of falling stars. "I could live here."
"Correction," Shya said. "You could marry here."
He laughed. "Tempting."
Arya and Tristan, who'd woken up the moment they saw the couch, threw themselves onto it. "Beds are for amateurs," Tristan announced, muffled by a pillow.
"Children," Shya said with mock severity. "There are fragile things here worth more than your entire Hogwarts tuition. Sit like rich people."
Arya sat up immediately. "What does that mean?"
Shya mimed sipping tea with her pinky raised. "Like this."
"Boring," Arya said.
"True," Shya agreed, already unpacking Haneera's toys onto the floor.
Pandora padded behind her, nose twitching at the faint smell of pastry drifting up from the courtyard below.
Talora set her tote down, brushing hair from her face. "All right, generals," she said, adopting the same mock-commanding tone. "What's the plan?"
Everyone looked up.
"You're the birthday girl," Shya said. "You make the call."
Talora tilted her head, thoughtful. "Today, we rest and swim. Tomorrow, we start the adventure."
Roman raised an imaginary toast with a bottle of Coke. "To Her Majesty, Queen of Common Sense."
Cassian gave a small approving nod. "Strategically sound."
Luna clapped her hands. "Pools, then!"
"Pools it is," Talora said. "Everyone change. We meet in fifteen."
"Fifteen?" Shya grinned. "That's optimistic."
Thirty minutes later — predictably — they poured out onto the pool deck in a flurry of towels, sunglasses, and chaotic laughter.
The D-Ticket Pool shimmered under the setting sun, a perfect shade of tropical turquoise framed by palm trees and striped cabanas. Waiters floated by with trays of drinks that looked like liquid candy. Fountains arced lazily over the water, throwing rainbows into the air.
Shya arrived last, hoodie swapped for a dark-green tankini with gold accents that caught every glint of light. Her hair was knotted up with a pen, sunglasses perched crookedly. "Behold," she announced. "An artist off duty."
Talora, in a pale-blue halter swimsuit with delicate gold embroidery, rolled her eyes. "You've said that before every holiday photo."
"And I'll say it again," Shya said, setting Haneera carefully on a lounge chair with a tiny embroidered towel. "My art is suffering, and you're the cause."
Luna twirled in her frilly one-piece — pastel purple with silver moons that shimmered whenever she moved. "Look, it sparkles!" she said, delighted.
Tristan grinned. "You look like a fairy!"
Luna beamed. "Good!"
Roman emerged from the cabana with Coke in hand, wearing navy swim shorts patterned with faint silver constellations. "So, how much trouble are we allowed to cause?"
Cassian's black swim shorts were simple, classic. "None," he said automatically.
"Good thing you're not in charge," Shya replied, and dove straight into the pool.
Water exploded everywhere.
Roman sputtered. "Oi! That's cold!"
"Then swim faster!" she shouted back, laughing.
Talora followed with a graceful dive, slicing through the water like glass. Cassian sighed — the resigned sound of someone who knew he was about to lose — and jumped in too.
The next half hour was pure chaos.
Arya and Tristan declared a race, Luna refereed (badly), and Roman provided color commentary from the edge with a mock-sports announcer's voice.
"And here comes the younger generation — small, fast, possibly rabid—"
"Shut up!" Arya yelled mid-lap, splashing him in the face.
Shya and Talora had claimed the far end of the pool, lounging on float rings with matching oversized sunglasses.
"We're watching history in the making," Shya said lazily.
"History?" Talora arched an eyebrow.
"Yeah — the first time my brother ever wins anything against a seven-year-old."
Talora laughed so hard she tipped backward into the pool.
Roman pointed, triumphant. "Down goes the queen!"
"Down goes your dignity," she shot back, pulling him in by the wrist as she surfaced.
The resulting splash hit Cassian squarely in the face. For a moment, he just blinked — dripping, stoic, the picture of tragic nobility — before smirking faintly. "You started this."
"Oh, don't be dramatic," Shya said.
He tilted his head. "You forget who my father is." And with that, he flipped her float completely.
The shriek that followed echoed across the pool.
Hours blurred in laughter and sun.
They raced down the Monorail waterslides, shrieking as they twisted through tunnels that flashed with bursts of light and music. Luna rode backwards accidentally and laughed the whole way down.
Talora and Cassian ended up competing in precision dives (Cassian won on form, Talora on enthusiasm).
Roman convinced Arya and Tristan to play "Keep Away" with a beach ball until Shya joined in and effortlessly scored on them all.
When exhaustion finally caught up, they retreated to their private cabana — shaded, breezy, the table covered in drinks and trays of desserts.
"Order of the day," Shya said, sipping a virgin piña colada with a pineapple slice bigger than her face, "no responsibilities."
"None," Talora agreed, biting into a macaron.
"None," Luna echoed around a mouthful of ice cream.
Arya grinned. "Can we stay here forever?"
Henry, sitting unobtrusively nearby with a newspaper, raised an eyebrow. "I'll inform your parents."
"No!" they all chorused.
Cassian chuckled, handing a Coke to Roman. "I think we've created a coup."
Roman lifted his can. "To glorious rebellion."
"To friendship," Talora said, soft but clear.
"To the birthday queen," Shya added, mock bowing.
Talora blushed. "You're ridiculous."
"Always," Shya said, raising her glass. "Now drink before it melts."
As the sun dipped low, everything turned to gold.
The water glittered like liquid fire; laughter echoed faintly against the marble. Pandora and Haneera dozed side by side on a pile of towels, tiny paws twitching as if dreaming of running through the fountains.
Roman had stretched out across two loungers, muttering half-asleep French nonsense. Luna was painting Cassian's wrist with melting ice cream "tattoos." Talora leaned over Shya's shoulder as they scrolled through photos — laughing at every splash-blurred face.
"Best start to a trip ever," Talora said quietly.
"Obviously," Shya said. "We're here."
Talora smiled. "We really are."
And for a moment, as the castle lights flickered to life in the distance and the last of the sunlight danced across their laughter, everything was perfect — warm, wild, and infinite.
Dinner had been chaos — the good kind.
Pasta and pastries, too many drinks refilled by smiling staff, Arya nearly spilling his Coke on Cassian's lap, Luna insisting on trying everything on the dessert menu "for research."
By the time they returned to their suite, the castle outside was glittering with fireworks, and the air smelled faintly of caramel and night air.
Now, the room was dim except for the soft glow of lamps and screens.
Talora and Shya were sprawled across the massive bed, matching pajama sets in pale blue and white — soft satin, monogrammed, a little ridiculous.
Pandora was curled at the foot, while Haneera slept in the crook of Shya's knees like a tiny guardian shadow.
Roman and Cassian had taken over the lounge area, locked in a fierce video game battle on the flat-screen.
Tristan and Arya were coaching them loudly from the floor, offering contradictory advice.
"Left, left!"
"No, other left!"
"Stop jumping!"
Cassian's expression was grimly focused. Roman was laughing so hard he could barely see straight.
Luna sat between the girls, clutching a tablet, eyes wide with wonder as the screen flickered to life. "It's like magic," she whispered.
"It's technology," Shya corrected, stretching lazily. "Different rules, same chaos."
Talora leaned against her shoulder, smiling softly. "You love chaos."
"I thrive in it," Shya said, pretending to look proud — but her tone was soft, content.
On the other bed, Arya and Tristan were snapping pictures with Shya's phone, trying out every filter. "Look!" Arya said, holding it up. "Now we have bunny ears!"
Shya took one look, burst out laughing, and pulled them all into the next shot — Luna squished in between, Cassian and Roman reluctantly dragged into frame. The photo came out slightly blurred, full of half-closed eyes and too-wide smiles.
Perfect.
Outside, the last of the fireworks faded over the castle. Inside, the laughter lingered — quiet and bright, a heartbeat of friendship suspended in the Paris night.
By the time the lights dimmed and the room fell still, the only sounds were the steady rhythm of breathing, the faint hum of the city beyond the glass, and the soft sigh of dreams beginning.