The exact moment Rowen clicked the library door shut, a soft glow bloomed into the hallway several feet down, spilling golden from under a door frame. A thin eye brow rose curiously only to vanish under an uneven curtain of dark blue hair. Mia hadn't been up this late in years, not even when it came to grading papers.

Something whispered beyond the closed door, and the spill of light was broken, lapsed by shallow shadows. Paper moved—a sound Rowen's ears had grown to amplify during his hours spent huddled over cracking leather tomes and desperately brittle scrolls. And, finally curious enough to remove his hand from the library doorknob he padded quietly over to Mia's door and knocked softly.

“Mia, ya, still up?”

Paper shuffled, but there was no reply. The light shifted again. Rowen tried the door, and as always it opened without any resistance whatsoever. He pushed it effortlessly open just enough to allow himself to step through, slender hand brushing it shut again in his wake.

Mia sat at her desk, wrapped in a pale yellow bed sheet. Her eyes were trained on a packet of papers in front of her and like a melancholy sleepwalker a set of clear lacquered nails flipped slowly through them. The header of the top sheet was fancily scrolled French bordered on either edge with a pair of heraldic shields.

“Mia?”

Tired aqua eyes focused slowly on him, as if she were having trouble picking him out from between lines on a page. She had been reading too long to sense his pulse or see the mild flush of his cheeks when his brain processed that she wasn't wearing much under the semi-opaque sheet. It was late summer, and no matter how many windows were open or fans blasting, it was impossible to ease the cling of humid sweat. Clad as she was, Mia resembled some Empress of the Old Kingdom—one who saw the beginnings of the Valley of Kings. A breeze shimmered through each lavish drape and fold. For a moment Rowen wondered if she was really there or simply a mirage.

“Oh Rowen,” she smiled gratefully, “just the Ronin I needed.” Her fingers ceased their restless flipping of paper. “They're offering me a two bedroom flat in downtown Paris, and a starting salary of 79k a year. What would you do?”

“That's great!” Rowen exclaimed, “th' University of Anthropology actually got back to ya? Are they gonna publish...?”

“It would be the first thing I did as a member of faculty. 'Myth Turned Reality: the Ronin Armor throughout History' Grandfather's work will finally be out there, where it belongs.” She didn't sound in the least enthused by the prospect.

“It's yer work too.” he reminded her, “You were th' one tha' went back to th' University an' recovered everything—if it wasn't fer you--

A pale, yellow-draped arm slammed down on the desk, startling Rowen out of his academic glee. Mia's eyes were swimming with tears.

“If it wasn't for me he'd be the one with the life-long professorship and the flat in Paris!” she caught herself, and her voice crackled, “surrounded by all his books and papers, all of his collection on display...Oh Rowen...” Mia stood unsteadily and took a few steps away from the desk, looking at him through a mess of tear-wet red bangs.

“Mia...” Rowen took a few steps forward and brushed at her hair. “There's nothing ya could 'ave done, ya know that.”

“And that's never going to change,” it was taking everything she had not to simply collapse with the weight of her rage and grief, “not for Grandfather, not for Sage...”

Rowen made a face. Sage had been out of the hospital for a good three months now and was recovering at record speed. That didn't stop them from closing their eyes and seeing the bloody, shattered torso of the man in every dream, though, not by a long shot. Even with everything they'd seen battling the Dynasty nothing could have prepared them for that. Sage literally looked as if his chest had been shattered like an egg shell. Books on structural anatomy and severe physical trauma had shown him what such damaged looked like in vivid illustrations and graphs, but seeing it happen to a human being was another thing entirely. He knew that. He had accepted that these things happen. Rowen had assumed Mia had gone through the same process—she was the most practical one during the whole ordeal after all, talking to the nurses calmly before anyone from Sage's family had arrived, rattling off all of the blonde's drug allergies and recent health concerns that she knew of. But perhaps it was all gut reaction? She'd seen them come so close to death so many times that she's just gone on autopilot as soon as they reached the hospital.

“Now Sage ya really couldn't 'ave done anythin' about. Ya weren't even there when it happened.” Rowen reasoned.

“Doesn't stop me from worrying!” she yelped pitifully, “and who knows what'll happen if I leave? You know Yulie's parents want me to take him with me? They want him to get a worldlier education.” she scoffed, disgusted at the thought, “He's already been through so much and they want to send him to France. France. They've even offered to wire me money for tuition for him to go to school there. They don't understand that we could leave, and something could happen and we'd never see you guys again! I couldn't forgive myself, Rowen. You all mean so much to us and if something happened where we couldn't get to you, if you needed us...for anything...and I've already lost grandfather by not being careful enough. If you or Cye or Kento got hurt, or...or needed somewhere to go...I...I could never bring myself to leave.”

Rowen blinked confusedly at Mia's sudden outburst, unsure of quite how to process it.

“You've watched us save th' world twice an' yer worried one of us will walk outside tomorrow an' get hit by a bus?”

She sniffed, obviously embarrassed, wiping away her own persistent tears. Where the tiny saline drops struck the sheet, pin-holes of smooth, toned skin peeked out. “I know it's stupid but I can't help it. I was so scared with Sage...I don't know what I'd have done if he didn't pull through. He lived here, ate at my table, slept under my roof—even if I had nothing to do with the accident I still felt responsible! And now Ryo's up all alone in his old cabin, I mean, what if there's a storm, or a landslide this summer and it's the last time I see him? I can't leave this place Rowen. I just can't.”

On that last syllable, Mia crossed violently back to her desk—about to throw the contract away—but Rowen grabbed her hand and pulled her close, the only thing he could think of in case she struggled. The press of her thinly veiled body was new and a little strange—he'd held her before but never in normal clothing. Without the armor or under armor, it was as if he could finally appreciate the fact that she was curved and heavy and warm.

“Ya know Mia, that's why we love ya,” Rowen said awkwardly, “But...ya gotta start thinkin' about yer'self. I'm not sayin' sell the place and forget about us but we've all had to get a little distance between us—even you an' Yulie.” He held her at arm's length, looking directly into her eyes. “Ya gotta trust us to look after ourselves at some point.”

“Even Ryo?”

“'specially Ryo.” Rowen laughed and felt the awkwardness lift when Mia giggled along. She broke the embrace, paced over to her bed, and sat on the edge. For a moment she held her head in her hands, hair obscuring most of her features. Then, with a small grin, she looked at him and asked:

“So how would you like to come to Paris with Yulie and I?”

Rowen balked. “I'm a senior this semester!”

“I don't mean live with us, just to help us move in. Get acclimated. Teach Yulie some French...I'm so rusty I wouldn't trust anything I could possibly teach him on the subject.”

The Ronin Warrior of Strata allowed his mouth to twitch up, relieved.

“I'd love to. I assume this'll be an open invite ta all o' the guys then?”

“Whether I want it to be or not, I suppose.” She stifled a broad-mouthed yawn.

“I'll let ya get some rest.” Rowen said, turning to move towards the door and hoping that he remembered his French enough to not only teach Yulie, but to make sure Kento didn't terrify any unsuspecting restaurant owners and unwittingly ensure that his Uncle would never open a store within 100 miles of the Champs Elysees.