Shadie stood in the doorway of her home, one hand gripping her cane, the other resting lightly on the frame. The autumn air was crisp, leaves skittering across the porch. Inside, laughter echoed faintly—Cream’s giggle, Fiona’s teasing comeback, April’s mock outrage. She smiled. For the first time in a long while, it felt like home again. “Don’t make me teleport you out of that kitchen!” Fiona called from inside. “April, put the chili powder down!” “I’m just seasoning! We’re not in a flavorless wasteland, Fi!” Shadie chuckled softly and made her way inside, each step deliberate but steady. The cane helped. She hated needing it, but it was part of her now—just like the scars, both seen and unseen. In the living room, Cream sat on the floor with a sketchpad, doodling little stick versions of the whole team. “Mama, I drew you fighting a big monster with your cane like a sword!” “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Fiona quipped as she passed Shadie a mug of tea. Silver was nearby, levitating a stack of books onto a shelf. “She’s almost ready to start light training again,” he said, glancing over at Shadie. “Though I’d prefer she rested another week.” “I can hear you, y’know,” Shadie said dryly, taking a sip. “I don’t plan to run a marathon. Just want to stop feeling like I’m eighty.” A soft shimmer of blue light flashed in the corner, and Midnight the Keeshond phased gently into the room from the upstairs hallway. Her eyes glowed faintly, tail wagging slowly as she padded over and nudged her head against Shadie’s knee. “Hey there, girl,” Shadie whispered, scratching behind Midnight’s ears. “Thanks for keeping watch.” Midnight didn’t speak—she never did—but her presence was grounding. With phasing and teleportation powers, she moved silently through walls and shadows, always showing up when someone needed her most. And right now, that someone was Shadie. April leaned against the counter, arms folded. “You’ve got everyone here. You sure you’re okay with all this chaos under your roof?” Shadie looked around: Fiona in her borrowed hoodie with a pot in one hand, Cream humming happily as she colored, Silver shelving books like it brought him peace, and Midnight laying at her feet like a silent guardian. “I’ve never been more okay,” she said. The night settled in gently. Fiona and April took the guest rooms. Silver slept on the couch without complaint, claiming he liked being “near the energy.” Midnight phased in and out, checking windows and doors like a sentry. Cream fell asleep curled up beside Shadie in her bed, hand gripping the edge of her blanket. And as Shadie lay there, cane resting beside her, heart full and body still mending, she realized something important. The storm had passed. For now. But whatever came next—she wouldn’t face it alone.
