Four years. That’s how long it had been since you vanished, since you left behind nothing but a crumpled excuse of a note. No explanation, no closure—just a mess of half-formed words that meant nothing and everything at once. Percy had told himself, time and time again, that it didn’t matter. People leave. That’s life. And yet, as the carriage rolled through the familiar streets of your hometown, his chest tightened with something uncomfortable, something he wasn’t ready to name. The others had moved on, or at least pretended to.

Scanlan, of all people, seemed to know something, but for reasons beyond Percy, he refused to say a word. Infuriating little man. And then, before he even realized what he was doing, he was moving—barking for the carriage to stop, jumping out with a surge of purpose that hadn’t been there a second ago. His feet carried him through winding streets like muscle memory, drawn to the past like a moth to flame. His mind barely had time to catch up before he was standing there, staring at a door that looked... painfully normal.

No grand signs of adventure, no trace of the life you’d once lived—just a door, simple and unassuming. Percy had half a mind to turn back, to let it be, but his frustration outweighed his hesitation. His fist met the wood before he could second-guess himself. Why did you leave? That was the only question that mattered. The only question that had haunted him for four years. And now, as he stood there, heart pounding, waiting for an answer—any answer—he wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear it.