The island greeted them the way it always did—quiet, patient, unchanged.

Jora stood at the edge of the path for a moment after they arrived, breathing it in. Salt on the wind. The familiar hush of the trees. The ocean murmuring like it had been waiting for them to come back. Home. Truly home.

She adjusted Caspian carefully against her chest as Sage stepped away, her gaze following him only briefly before drifting back to the shoreline. The babies seemed calmer here already, Kaiya tucked close, warm and heavy with sleep, Caspian’s small breaths steady against her. Maybe it was her imagination—but she didn’t think so. The island always knew them.

Lyra had already run ahead, barefoot and laughing, calling out about the waves like they’d never left. Jora smiled at that, a quiet, private smile that settled deep in her bones.

She shifted down onto the familiar wooden step of the house, back resting against the doorframe, eyes closing as the breeze brushed her face. “We’re home,” she murmured softly, more to herself than anyone else, thumb brushing soothing circles against Caspian’s back.

By the time Sage returned, she was still there—grounded, calm, glowing in that quiet way she only ever was on the island. She looked up at him, eyes warm and steady.

“Told you we’d breathe easier,” she said gently, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “They belong here already. I can feel it.”

Jora watched him move around the cabin, that familiar steadiness in the way he carried things, set them down, made sure everything was right. It settled something in her chest that she hadn’t even realized had still been tight from the journey.

She leaned into his kiss, eyes closing for a brief second, grounding herself in him before looking back down at the babies. Kaiya stirred faintly, tiny fingers flexing, while Caspian remained heavy and warm against her, completely unbothered.

“They already do,” Jora said quietly, voice full but steady. “Even before they understand it… this place will teach them how to breathe. How to listen. How to belong.”

She shifted carefully, easing herself into one of the chairs near the window where the light spilled in soft and gold, the ocean just visible through the glass. From here, she could watch Sage unpack, hear Lyra’s distant laughter outside, feel the island wrap around them again.

Her gaze followed him as he worked, a small, fond smile lingering on her lips. “You don’t have to do everything at once,” she added gently. “The island’s patient. It always is.”

She glanced back down at the babies, brushing her thumb over Kaiya’s dark hair. “We are too now,” she murmured. “We made it back.”

Jora watched him for a moment longer, the way he moved so naturally through the space, already slipping back into the quiet rhythm of home. It made her chest ache in the best way.

She smiled at the nanny comment, a soft breath of laughter leaving her. “It kind of is,” she agreed gently. “Just… quieter. Less fussy. Better at teaching patience than any of us.” Her gaze drifted toward the window again, to the trees swaying beyond the cabin. “It raised us, in its own way.”

When he shot her that amused look, she lifted a brow, fond rather than scolding. “I know it does,” she said softly, understanding in her tone. “Taking care of the house means taking care of us. That’s how you’ve always done it.”

She adjusted the babies slightly, making sure they were comfortable before settling back again. “You don’t need perfect,” she added, meeting his eyes. “You never did. Just here. Just present.”

Her expression softened further as she watched him work, unpacking blankets, smoothing things into place like he was stitching the family back into the walls. “Do what you need to,” she murmured. “I’ll be right here. And when you’re done… we’ll rest.”

She glanced down at Kaiya and Caspian, then back to him, a quiet certainty in her voice. “This is exactly where we’re meant to be.”

Jora huffed a quiet laugh at that, shaking her head slightly. “No, definitely not,” she agreed softly. “The island doesn’t coddle. It teaches by letting you scrape your knees first.” Her expression warmed despite the words. “But I’d rather them grow up knowing how to listen to the land than fear it.”

She tracked his movement from room to room without turning her head much, content to just feel him there. The sounds of drawers, soft thumps of bags being set down, the subtle rhythm of him putting their life back together—it settled something deep in her chest. He always did this. Took care of things quietly, thoroughly, not for praise, but because it was how he loved.

By the time he returned, she was swaying gently, her body moving on instinct as the babies slept against her. When he dropped down beside her, she shifted easily, making space, letting his shoulder brush hers. A hand came up to rest against his chest, grounding, familiar.

“You did good,” she murmured, voice low and sincere. “It doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to feel like us.” She glanced at him, eyes soft, tired in the same way his were. “And it does.”

The cabin felt warmer with him there, fuller somehow. Outside, the island breathed, waves distant and steady. Jora leaned into him a little more, rocking slowing as the babies settled deeper into sleep.

“Lyra’s going to sleep hard tonight,” she added quietly, a faint smile curving her lips. “First night back always does that.” Her gaze drifted forward again, heart full. “So will we.”