The phone sits on speaker, its battery icon already fading. Dallas keeps his voice level and tells Harbor Unit the wedding comes first, that whatever they want can wait until Monday.

The room stays quiet after the words land. Morning light slides through the blinds, striping the bedspread and Elena’s hands as she rests them on the window frame.

Elena turns from the glass with a small, relieved smile, the kind that reaches her shoulders before it reaches her mouth. Murderbone gives a low huff and settles tighter into the rug.

Jackson’s voice crackles thinly through the speaker, more warm than official now. Dallas has a rare, easy stretch of silence in front of him, the kind that does not ask for blood or badges.