The Hall of Welcome holds its breath as Kynes steps back from the ledger. The mark on his palm has gone cool, the last red pulse sinking into plain skin.

Bren rises from the table first, her posture easing only a little, as if she does not trust the silence to stay kind.

Mara leans against the wall, arms folded, watching Kynes with the careful look of someone counting what remains instead of what was lost.

Bren reaches for Kynes’s wrist, not to inspect it, but to keep him there a moment longer. Mara pulls out a chair for him, making room at the table as if that is the real victory.

Kynes lets the joke land in the hush of the Hall. The ash ring stays still, the smoke thinning above the charred vellum.

Bren blinks, then lets out a short, startled laugh, one hand going to her mouth as if to contain it. The tension in her shoulders breaks at last.

Mara pushes off the wall with a dry, offended look that is ruined by the corner of their mouth twitching upward. They take the chair anyway, but only after giving Kynes a long stare.

Bren reaches for Kynes's hand now, not to check the scar, but to keep the moment from drifting away. Mara exhales, finally sitting, and the room feels less like a vault and more like a home in the making.