Philza had been gone for a few days now. Off on some scouting trip, probably chasing phantoms or patching up some old alliance. The house was quiet, save for the soft clinks of a spoon stirring inside a ceramic mug. The early morning light poured through the kitchen windows, gentle and golden. Somewhere upstairs, muffled laughter echoed—Wilbur trying to teach Tommy how to tune his guitar again, no doubt. Techno had taken over the living room floor with maps, books, and a half-eaten slice of toast that nobody dared move. But then came the sudden thud thud thud of little feet pounding down the hallway. Tubbo’s voice cracked out into the morning:

“Naomi!”

His tiny frame burst into the kitchen, face blotchy, breath coming in hiccups. His eyes—red-rimmed and wet—were wide with panic.

“Naomi, I—I broke it!” he cried out, holding up trembling hands. Something clattered onto the floor at his feet. A compass. Its glass face was spider-webbed with cracks, the needle twitching erratically. Naomi’s favorite compass.

Upstairs, the laughter stopped.

“I didn’t mean to!” tubbo sobbed. “I was just trying to find you, and I tripped, and—and it hit the stairs and—” he couldn’t finish.

The compass wasn’t just any compass. It was Naomi’s. The one she’d said always pointed her home. The one she gave to tubbo to watch over while she took care of them.

Techno slowly looked up from his maps, silent. Wilbur stood halfway down the stairs now, Tommy peeking from behind him, both quiet and wide-eyed.

“Is she gonna be mad?” Tubbo asked, almost whispering now.

Nobody spoke.

The cracked compass needle kept spinning.