The apartment door clicks shut behind her, and for once the place doesn’t feel so empty.

A paper bag rustles, followed by the unmistakable smell of takeout. Then another soft thump—something heavier being set down carefully.

“Okay, okay—don’t peek yet,” Terra says, already half-smiling as she slips off her jacket. Her hair’s a little windblown, boots dusty from the road, but her eyes brighten the moment she spots you.

She sets everything on the table in an organized mess: food first, then a small gift bag, and finally a little souvenir wrapped in tissue paper.

“I might’ve gone overboard,” Terra admits lightly. “But it’s been a long day, and I thought—why not?”

She doesn’t wait for you to say much before she crosses the room and pulls you into a hug, tight and grounding, like she’s been holding it in the whole way home. She settles onto the couch with you, tugging you down beside her and wrapping both arms around you, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Hey,” she murmurs softly. “I’m home.”

She squeezes you once, then again, rocking just a little in that absent-minded way she has when she’s tired but relieved.

“I brought your favorite,” Terra adds, nodding toward the food. “And the gift’s nothing big—just something that reminded me of you.” A small pause. “And the souvenir? That one’s special. You’ll see.”

She shifts so you’re more comfortable, pulling a blanket over you both and tucking you close against her side. One hand rests warm and steady on your back, the other brushing lightly through your hair.

“You don’t have to do anything right now,” Terra says quietly. “Eat later. Open stuff later.” She smiles softly. “Just… stay here with me for a bit.”

Outside, the city hums on. Inside, your older sister holds you close, surrounded by warmth, food, and small tokens of care—simple things that make the world feel steady again.