𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘, 𝖺 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝖻𝗎𝗆

🌩️ homefires

✦ Part I — Reuniting with the Others

The wind still howled through the trees as Bea and Nico crested the ridge. Smoke curled from the west, but not the kind that meant danger — controlled fire, campfire.

Then: "Oi! Flashlight, over there!"

Minho.

Voices. Figures coming into view. Bea blinked rain from her lashes and nearly collapsed in relief as she saw them.

Minho. Hugo. Nancy. Thèrèse. Thomas.

Nico's hand tightened around hers before she even realized she was squeezing.

"Bea!" Thèrèse was the first to reach them, skidding across mud to crush Bea in a hug.

"You're alive, bloody hell, what happened?" Hugo asked, eyes flicking to the burns on Nico's shoulder.

Bea, still half-pinned under Thèrèse's hug, answered with a hoarse laugh. "We got separated. Ambushed. But we made it."

"Barely," Nico added, wincing.

Nancy stepped forward with her hands on her hips, eyes scanning both of them. "Did you fall off a cliff or just roll through one?"

"A bit of both," Bea muttered.

Thomas moved in next, a rare softness in his stormy eyes. He looked from Bea to Nico, and though he didn't say anything, the nod he gave Nico, a real one, said everything.

They'd been found. They were home.

✦ Part II — The Campfire

Night had fully fallen.

A crackling fire burned in the middle of the Iron Lion's courtyard. Lanterns glowed under high brick archways. Everyone was gathered around — bandaged, stitched up, tired, but whole.

Nico sat just off to the side, watching Bea laugh with Nancy and Thérèse as they passed around someone's terrible attempt at soup.

His shoulder was wrapped in gauze. His jaw was bruised. But he couldn't stop smiling.

Bea caught him watching. She slipped away from the circle and dropped down beside him, holding two tin mugs. She handed him one.

"Tastes like dirt," she said. "But it's warm."

He took a sip and winced. "You weren't kidding."

They sat in silence for a few beats.

The firelight flickered over her amber eyes, over the fading bruises on her arms. Her hair was still damp but wild and curling near her cheeks.

"I was scared," he admitted quietly.

Bea looked up.

"Back there. When I saw you running with nothing but a broken arrow. I thought I'd lose you. And all I could think about was that stupid fortune teller."

Bea smiled faintly. "She wasn't wrong, huh?"

"No," he murmured. "I'm choosing you. Again. And again."

She leaned against his uninjured side. Let him feel the weight of her there, alive. "Then maybe next time we don't almost die," she said softly.

"No promises."

They didn't kiss. They didn't need to.

They just sat there, firelight dancing between them, the world around them broken but still standing. And for the first time in a long, long time...

They both believed in the idea of tomorrow.