Torric goes rigid. His fire flares, then banks. His jaw does that thing where he’s trying really hard not to feel anything.
Bob clasps his arm. Warrior to warrior. Something passes between them that doesn’t need words.
Torric nods. Sharp. Military.
Bob moves to Aspen — grips his shoulder, squeezes once. To Finn — hesitates, then pulls him into a hug that makes Finn sob harder against Malrik’s chest. To Malrik — clasps his hand while Malrik’s shadow magic reaches toward him like it’s trying to hold on. To Darian — places a hand over his heart, holds it there. To Kieran — bows, ancient to ancient, two soldiers who’ve seen too much.
Then he comes to me.
He stops. Stands at attention. Perfect form. Perfect stillness.
And then — slowly, carefully — he reaches out and takes my hand.
His grip is firm. Solid. Real.
He places my hand over his heart. Holds it there.
I can feel it. The centuries of service. The loyalty. The love.
“Commander Bob.” My voice is wrecked. Shattered. “Thank you. For staying. For protecting me. For—” I can’t finish. Can’t find words big enough.
He squeezes my hand once.
Then he steps back.
Salutes.
Perfect. Crisp. The salute he’s been saving for this moment. For me.
I salute back. Sloppy. Tearful. The worst salute in the history of salutes.
But his form ripples. Something that might be a smile.
He holds it for one more moment.
Then he turns and walks toward the Gate.
He doesn’t look back.
The light swallows him.
And he’s gone.
Walter drifts forward.
He hovers in front of me, pulsing that strange violet light, and I feel something pass between us.
Not words. Not images. Just understanding.
He’s staying.
He pulses once — bright, warm, proud — and then drifts back to hover at my shoulder.
Where he’s always been.
Where he’ll always be.
Mouse pads forward and sits at my feet.
