Jora smiled at his musing, the corner of her mouth lifting as she followed his gaze for a moment, imagining the island the same way he did—watchful, patient, quietly alive.

“I think places can remember,” she said softly. “Not like we do… but in their own way. How they’re treated, how people move through them. The island’s always taken care of us because we listened.” She hummed, amused. “And I agree—best not test what happens if we didn’t.”

At his teasing, she let out a low laugh, nudging him back with her shoulder. “Excuse you. Muscles are important,” she pointed out, mock-serious. “Someone has to hold everything together when the heart decides to be brave.” Her expression softened immediately after, eyes warm. “We work because it’s both.”

When he asked about timing, her teasing faded into thought. She took a slow breath, gaze drifting instinctively to the babies, then back to him.

“Not too long,” she said honestly. “Long enough for me to be steady on my feet, for them to be strong enough for the trip. A few more weeks, maybe.” She squeezed his hand. “I don’t want to rush it… but I don’t want to wait so long that it starts to feel like we’re visiting our own home.”

Her smile returned, quiet and sure. “We’ll know when it’s time. We always do.”

Jora nodded slowly, her thumb brushing idly over the back of his hand as he spoke, grounding herself in the familiar warmth of him.

“It does,” she agreed softly. “A memory, a rhythm. Like the tide—it doesn’t think, but it remembers all the same.” Her gaze drifted for a moment, thoughtful, before returning to him with a small smile. “I think that’s why it feels like it knows us.”

She laughed quietly at his pride over the muscles comment, shaking her head. “Alright, alright,” she teased. “Muscles it is. I’ll take that title happily.” Her eyes softened as she added, “We keep each other moving. That’s what matters.”

At his suggestion of two weeks, she gave a slow, approving nod. “Two weeks sounds right,” she said. “Enough time for my body to finish mending… and for them to be a little sturdier.” Her gaze flicked to the babies, fond and protective. “The ocean can be gentle, but it can also be a lot. I want their first time to feel safe. Warm. Like home.”

She squeezed his hand lightly, a quiet promise in the gesture.
“We’ll take it slow,” she murmured. “The island will still be there, waiting for us. It always does.”

Jora let out a quiet breath at his words, the kind that came from somewhere deep and settled, and leaned her shoulder gently into his side. His description of the island—of home—felt right in a way that warmed her chest.

“Slow. Steady. Unyielding,” she echoed softly, a small smile curving her lips. “Sounds familiar.” Her thumb traced one last absent circle over his hand before she laced their fingers together properly. “And yeah… I’m grateful it chose us. Or at least lets us belong to it.”

She nodded when he talked through the timing, comforted by how carefully he thought things through. That had always been one of his strengths—planning not just for survival, but for care. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the babies, her expression softening. “They deserve a gentle first crossing.”

At his squeeze and promise, she smiled—really smiled—tilting her head to rest against his shoulder.
“No,” she murmured. “We’re not going anywhere. We’ve built something that lasts.”

Her fingers tightened around his just a little, quiet and certain.
“We’ll go home together. All of us.”

Jora let out a quiet laugh, bumping her shoulder back against his in return. “If you’re quoting me now, I must be doing something right,” she teased lightly. “Careful, keep this up and you’ll start sounding wise all on your own.” There was warmth in her eyes as she looked at him, fond and amused in equal measure.

His words about the island made her grow a little more thoughtful, though she nodded in agreement. “That’s exactly how it works,” she murmured. “We’re part of it. Guests, caretakers… family.” Her thumb brushed absently along his arm. “It could take everything back if it wanted to—but it hasn’t. That peace you’re feeling? That’s trust.”

She followed his gaze inward when he closed his eyes, imagining it too—the house, the quiet, the rooms waiting for little footsteps and soft cries in the night. Her chest tightened with anticipation and something close to awe.

“I can’t wait,” she admitted softly. “For them to be there. For Lyra to see her room again. For you to finally stop pacing and pretending you’re not excited,” she added with a small, affectionate smile.

She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. “You built a home for us,” she said quietly. “We’ll be there soon. All of us.”

(Sorry, had a bit of a writers block, so it took me some time)

Jora snorted quietly at his laugh, rolling her eyes even as her smile widened. “Excuse you,” she murmured, giving his hand a light squeeze. “Those were gentle reminders, not lectures.” She tipped her head toward him, eyes warm. “And if they’re stuck in your head forever, I consider that a win.”

At his wink, she shook her head, amused. “Oh absolutely. Between the two of us, they won’t stand a chance,” she teased softly. “They’ll be stubborn, curious, and asking questions before they can even walk.” Her gaze drifted toward the babies again, fond and thoughtful. “That’s not such a bad fate.”

When his tone shifted—softened the way it always did when he spoke about the island—Jora leaned in closer, resting her temple against his shoulder. “It is,” she agreed quietly. “Just as much as any of us. It’s held us, watched us grow. It’s home in the truest sense.”

She smiled at his reassurance, slow and certain. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Soon.”
Her fingers threaded more firmly through his, grounding, steady. “And when we’re back… we’ll breathe easier. All of us.”