Food had a way of loosening things.
Not the expensive kind—no wine, no ceremony. Just warm dishes, shared plates, the quiet rhythm of eating without urgency.
Someone laughed first. It startled them all.
It was Scar-Jaw. A short huff, like he'd tried to hold it in and failed.
"Remember Jakarta?" he said. "The safe house with the fake walls."
Noah snorted. "Fake? You punched through one."
"You told me it was reinforced!"
"It was. Just… not against you."
Aria didn't look up. "You were both wrong," she said calmly. "The blueprint was upside down."
Silence.
Then groans.
"You knew?" someone demanded.
"I corrected it," she said. "You ignored the update."
Noah buried his face in his hands. "We almost died."
"But you didn't," Aria replied. "You're welcome."
Laughter rolled through the table, easier this time. The tension thinned, replaced by something warmer. Stories surfaced—half-finished memories, missions that ended too fast, names they never spoke again.
Someone mentioned snow. Another brought up the time comms went dead for six hours and she'd kept them moving by tapping code on a busted watch.
"You never panicked," Noah said.
She finally looked at him. "I did."
They blinked.
"Just not where you could see it."
The room quieted, not heavy—just real.
Outside, the city hummed on, unaware of the ghosts sitting around a table, stitching themselves back together with stories they'd never thought they'd finish telling.
And for the first time in years, none of them felt rushed.