The sun is barely cresting the Sidra when I wake, stirred by the anticipation that has filled me before every trip and celebration since I was a little girl. The low rumble of Feyre’s laughter floats up the stairs, drawing me from beneath my bed-sheets like a tide pulling at the shore. The River House is still dim and cool, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee already threading through the kitchen like an enchantment.

Cassian, of course, is already there.

He’s halfway through a breakfast sandwich and sprawled comfortably at the kitchen island, boots kicked up on the stool beside him, a grin stretched wide across his face, even as he eats. He offers me a muffin and a wink.

“Big day,” he says around a mouthful. “Road trip energy is sacred. Eat up.”

I slip into a chair beside Feyre, watching Nyx make a mess of his breakfast, but feeling comforted at the familiarity and excitement stirring the house. Elain floats in not long after, hair freshly braided even as sleep still lingers in her eyes. Feyre, meanwhile, is elbow-deep in toddler supplies, murmuring to Nyx as she organises his things with the kind of precision that would make a general weep.

Nesta doesn't knock when she arrives, she just appears in the doorway like a quiet wind slipping through the cracks, temporarily stunning everyone at her arrival, before the relief settles. There’s tension, yes—but she nods to Elain, and lets Feyre pull her into a brief, stiff hug. It’s not warmth exactly, but it’s something. She sits at the table without a word, sharp eyes scanning the room like she’s deciding whether to run or endure. But when Nyx's excited squeal draws her gaze, the toddler waving at her enthusiastically, a small smile etches across her lips, and she stays.