The meal came to a close with the warm hum of low laughter and the clink of polished cutlery. Plates were mostly empty, drinks mostly finished. The tension that had once curled beneath the surface had bled away, replaced by the low, satisfied rhythm of people who had earned their rest.
Sylvie glanced up as the restaurant's ambient lights shifted—an automatic cue from the internal time-glyphs that curfew bells were approaching across Arcadia.
"Time to go," she murmured.
Astron was already rising.
Jasmine stretched with a groan, arms overhead. "Ugh, I forgot what full stomachs felt like. I might actually sleep tonight."
"You mean snore," Layla muttered.
"Correction: snore victoriously."
Even Irina gave a soft exhale of agreement as she reached for her coat.
Leonard stood with them, adjusting his cuffs calmly. His movements were quiet, but there was a certain weight to them now. As if the evening had marked a closing page.
Because it had.
