Lucen stepped out first.
Cold air hit him like a wet slap. Not clean cold, more like city cold. Metal and dust and ozone left over from ten thousand bad enchantments. The kind of cold that stuck behind your ears.
His boots hit pavement.
Still cracked.
Still half-sunk in old rail lines and the smell of engine oil and dead moss.
Behind him, the others came through. One blink at a time.
Senna. Mira. Callen.
All alive. Mostly upright.
Lucen didn't look at them yet.
He was looking at the man leaning against the broken terminal post with a half-eaten rice ball in one hand.
Gen.
Same long coat. Same lazy smile.
Like he'd just stepped out for a snack and found his favorite TV show walking back to him covered in dirt and blood.
Lucen frowned. "You didn't move."
Gen took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. "You didn't die."
"Not for lack of trying."
