Six Months Later.
The Mediterranean sun was a warm, heavy weight against the white stucco walls of the villa. The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs was the only siren they heard now.
Caspian stood on the terrace, bare-chested and bronzed by the sun. The "Iron Hand" was gone, replaced by a man who knew the name of every flower in the garden. He felt a pair of soft arms wrap around his waist and the familiar, jasmine-scented heat of Linnea pressing against his back.
"The news from the Capital came in," she murmured, her cheek resting against his shoulder. "The provisional government has signed the peace treaty with the East. They've turned the Vane Estate into a museum."
Caspian turned in her arms, his hands finding the small of her back. He looked down at her—no masks, no colored contacts, no hidden knives. Just Linnea.
"Do you miss it?" he asked softly. "The hunt? The shadows?"
Linnea smiled, a genuine, radiant expression that reached her eyes. He reached up, his fingers tracing the silver key that hung around her neck—the key to the house they had built together.
"I spent my life being a ghost, Caspian," she said, leaning in until their lips were inches apart. "I think I'd rather be a wife."
Caspian laughed, the sound deep and full of a peace he had never known. He pulled her into a kiss that tasted of salt, sun, and a future they had fought to earn.
"I can certainly handle that," he whispered.
Across the Blue Sea, the world continued its slow, messy dance of politics and power. But here, on the edge of the world, the Lion and his Ghost had finally found the one thing no empire could ever give them.
They had found home.
THE END.