The city lights blinked outside the window, neon and glass and motion.
Someone stared too long.
"When we left," one of them said slowly, "this place was quieter."
Aria followed his gaze. Self-driving cars slid past. Screens pulsed on buildings. People walked faster, heads down, connected to things they couldn't see.
"It didn't wait for us," Noah murmured.
"No," Aria agreed. "It never does."
Scar-Jaw leaned back, chair creaking. "We trained for borders that don't exist anymore. Enemies that changed faces. Systems that don't need guns."
"Guns still exist," she said dryly. "They're just less interesting."
That got a short laugh.
Another voice, softer. "Do we still fit?"
No one answered immediately.
Aria stood and walked to the window. For a moment, her reflection overlapped the city—sharp eyes, relaxed posture, someone who looked like she belonged to this era more than the one she'd come from.
"We fit," she said. "Just not where we used to."
They waited.
"The world learned new ways to hurt people," she continued. "Which means it needs new ways to stop it."
"And you?" Noah asked. "Where do you fit?"
She didn't answer right away.
Finally, she said, "Here. For now."
Not an ending. Not a return.
A choice.
The city kept moving.
This time, they watched it without feeling left behind.