The moment Celeste stepped into the warmer light of the Egg Tree courtyard, her arcbracer shrieked.

Not beeped.

Not chimed.

Shrieked.

Celeste startled so badly she nearly dropped the lucky coin Echo had given her.

“Oh stars—what now?”

A projection flared above her wrist in cold gold light.

Lady Umbranox Arcturus appeared.

Elegant. Severe. Beautiful in the way a drawn blade was beautiful. Her dark eyes narrowed with the kind of composure that suggested she had never once needed to raise her voice to make an entire room regret breathing too loudly.

“Commander Astallan.”

Celeste snapped upright at once.

Then saluted.

Then tripped over a loose medical blanket.

Then caught herself, stumbled sideways, nearly knocked into a supply crate, and saluted again with absolute panic in her eyes.

“Lady Umbranox! Hello! Good evening! I mean, probably evening. Time went a bit strange inside the gumball, so I’m not completely sure, but emotionally it feels very evening.”

Umbranox stared at her.

“A curious report has come through,” she said, voice smooth as velvet over a knife, “stating that thou infiltrated the Gumball Nexus single-handedly, rescued a sizeable number of civilians, disrupted an experimental battery system, and returned apparently unharmed.”

Celeste froze.

Then smiled with the fragile bravery of someone standing very near a cliff.

“Ah. Yes. Well. The rumours are highly exaggerated.”

Without missing a beat, Umbranox lifted one hand.

A string of evidence appeared beside her projection.

Aerial footage.

Survivor counts.

A blurry image of Celeste falling out of the hive in the rain.

Another of freed civilians descending on gum-webbing.

Arcade’s emergency data ping.

C.H.I.P.’s download log.

A final still image of Velcarius’s massive silhouette above the gumball.

Celeste made a tiny sound and looked as though her soul had briefly left her body to avoid paperwork.

Umbranox’s eyebrow rose.

“Exaggerated?”

Celeste swallowed.

“Only… slightly less exaggerated than I hoped?”

“I expect a full report on what thou saw inside.”

Celeste sighed, shoulders drooping.

“Arcade is sending the footage. C.H.I.P. downloaded everything. Or at least everything that didn’t try to eat him, which was most things but not all things.”

“See that he does.”

Umbranox’s eyes sharpened.

“I have half a mind to deliver a lecture so thorough that even Hughes would require a chair.”

Celeste winced.

Then Umbranox stopped.

Completely.

Her gaze had shifted past Celeste.

The colour drained from her face.

For the first time since Celeste had known her, Lady Umbranox looked shocked.

“Who,” she said slowly, “is that behind thee?”

Celeste glanced over her shoulder.

Silver stood a few paces away with Bartleby, coat straight, posture immaculate, and expression tired in the exact way only someone recently rescued from a candy hive and immediately returned to politics could manage.

“Oh!” Celeste brightened. “Right. I found your son. Silver. I mean—His Majesty? Wait, no, that’s not right. His Lordship? His Royal Councilness? What do you call a Caedrix’s son anyway? I’m very sorry. Titles are slippery.”

Silver’s ears flattened.

Celeste continued, because nerves had seized control of her mouth and were now driving it directly into a wall.

“He was in the gumball. I accidentally tripped over him. Well, not tripped. More like found his prison-pod. And then I headbutted it. Accidentally. Sort of. But it opened, so technically it helped.”

Umbranox did not blink.

“Put him on.”

Celeste nodded far too quickly.

“Yes. Yes, of course. No problem. Very reasonable.”

She turned and tossed her arcbracer toward Silver.

“Your mum wants you.”

Silver caught Celeste’s arcbracer by reflex.

His ears went completely flat.

“Oh no.”

Umbranox’s projection sharpened above the bracer.

“Silver Balthazar Arcturus.”

Silver closed his eyes, already resigned. “Mother, I can explain—”

“Missing for months. Presumed dead. And thou resurface inside a candy hive?”

His mouth opened.

Umbranox cut through him.

“Oh, I am certain thou thinkest thou can explain.”

Silver stepped a little away with the arcbracer, turning his back as if privacy might save him.

It did not.

Celeste stood awkwardly in the courtyard, paws clasped in front of her, trying very hard not to listen while hearing absolutely every word.

“—deviating from embassy duty—”

“—Mother, in fairness—”

“—comic convention, Silver.”

“—a culturally significant public gathering—”

“—a comic convention.”

Bartleby coughed delicately and leaned closer to Celeste, lowering his voice.

“I love Lady Umbranox dearly,” he said, “but I have absolutely no desire to be within a five-mile radius of that conversation.”

Silver shot him a look. “Traitor.”

“Survivor,” Bartleby corrected, already stepping back. “Good luck, my boy.”

The arcbracer continued to hiss with maternal fury.

“—worried is an understatement, Silver—”

Celeste couldn’t help it.

She smiled.

Then she cleared her throat. “Um. I’d… be glad to help,” she said, glancing toward the corridor Ray had disappeared down. “Escort him, I mean. It would… uh… get me out of Ray’s glare for a little while.”

Silver looked at her, one brow lifting despite himself. “You’re volunteering to walk me into a Council dressing-down?”

Celeste nodded earnestly. “Yes.”

“…You’re braver than most knights I know.”

Bartleby beamed. “Splendid! I’ll leave him in your very capable hands.”

His relief lasted only a moment before something more fragile crossed his face.

He looked back at Celeste.

“Did you…” His voice caught. He adjusted his glasses quickly, as if the question were merely administrative. “Did you find any others? Survivors from my family?”

Celeste’s ears lowered.

“No,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know who I was looking for.”

Bartleby nodded too fast.

“Yes. Of course. Naturally. It was chaos. Unreasonable question.”

Celeste stepped closer. “Who were you looking for?”

Bartleby swallowed.

“My mother,” he said.

The words came out small.

Then he forced himself onward.

“My older brother, Phineas Fairfax. He is head of House Fairfax now. Or… he was. Is. I don’t know.”

His grip tightened around Valentine.

“My sister and her husband. Valentine’s parents.”

Valentine stirred faintly against his coat but did not wake.

Bartleby looked down at her, and when he spoke again, his voice was thinner.

“She has three older brothers. Triplets. Dreadful little tyrants. They once filled my shoes with pudding because I criticised their penmanship.”

A weak smile twitched at his mouth.

It didn’t survive.

“Did you see them?”

Celeste shook her head.

Bartleby stared at her for a moment.

Then nodded.

Once.

Very carefully.

“I see.”

He adjusted Valentine’s blanket, smoothing it over her shoulders with hands that trembled no matter how hard he tried to stop them.

“Well,” he said, voice too polished, too bright, too broken at the edges. “One miracle at a time, I suppose.”

Celeste’s chest ached.

“Bartleby…”

He looked up quickly, already rebuilding his face into something useful.

“No, no. You brought her back.” His eyes shone behind his glasses. “That is not a small thing. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

He hugged Valentine closer.

For a second, his chin dipped into her soft pink fur.

Only for a second.

Then he straightened.

He gave Celeste a grateful nod, then vanished into the crowd.

A few moments later, Silver returned, looking as composed as someone could while clearly having been emotionally skinned alive by his mother.

He handed Celeste her arcbracer back.

“There,” he said lightly. “That could have gone worse.”

The projection flickered again.

Umbranox was still there.

Silver’s ears flattened all over again.

Celeste’s did too, mostly out of instinct.

“Commander Astallan,” Umbranox said.

Celeste snapped upright. “Yes, ma’am?”

A soft ping sounded from Celeste’s arcbracer.

She looked down.

A bank notification flashed across the screen.

Her eyes widened.

Then widened further.

Then her knees nearly gave out.

“Oh stars,” she squeaked. “That is too many numbers.”

Silver leaned over, brows lifting. “Well. Apparently heroism pays.”

A second ping sounded.

Celeste looked down again.

Her face fell.

“Oh.”

Umbranox’s expression did not change.

“I have issued a reward for the rescue of civilians from the Gumball Nexus,” she said smoothly. “And a fine for infiltrating said Gumball Nexus without notifying command, filing a route plan, requesting support, or informing anyone where you intended to be if one became trapped, eaten, experimented upon, or inconveniently dead.”

Celeste opened her mouth.

Closed it.

The number adjusted.

The impossible reward shrank to something painfully ordinary.

A normal wage amount.

Maybe slightly generous.

If one was feeling optimistic.

Celeste stared at the screen.

“Oh,” she said again, much smaller. “That feels… more familiar.”

Umbranox’s eyes narrowed.

“Tell people when you conductest a military rescue or operation, Commander. Then, should you get stuck, we know where you are.”

Celeste’s ears folded flat.

“Yes, Lady Umbranox.”

Umbranox turned her gaze to Silver.

“And next time thou decidest to deviate from thy duties of attending an embassy function in order to visit a comic convention, YOU will tell me too.”

Silver’s ears flattened until they nearly vanished into his hair.

“Yes, Mother.”

For one brief, ridiculous moment, both Silver and Celeste stood side by side looking like children caught stealing biscuits.

Umbranox looked between them.

Her expression remained stern.

But something in her eyes softened by the smallest fraction.

“See you tomorrow, Commander.”

The projection vanished.

Celeste exhaled so hard her shoulders dropped.

Silver stared at the empty space above her wrist.

Then he cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said. “You really are a commander.”

Celeste blinked at him.

He gave her a small, elegant bow.

“I apologise for my earlier comments.”

Celeste frowned. “I don’t think you made any.”

Silver straightened, one brow lifting.

“Darling,” he said, “you can be certain I was thinking them.”

Celeste considered that.

Then nodded solemnly.

“Oh. Well. Thank you for apologising for your thoughts.”

Silver stared at her.

Then laughed, helpless despite himself.

“You are going to be terrible for my dignity.”

Celeste smiled faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Silver said, still smiling. “I suspect you’re not.”

Silver sighed, rubbing his temples..

“…So,” he said lightly, glancing at Celeste, “walk me to my doom?”

She adjusted her jacket, clutching the lucky coin in her pocket.

“Sure,” she replied. “At this point, it feels like a quiet evening.”

They hadn’t gone far when Carys intercepted them, bundled up in her scarf, arms full of knitted disasters.

“Oh—wait—hold still,” she said, already shoving mittens into both their hands. Thick wool. Slightly mismatched. Clearly handmade. “It’s freezing out there.”

Celeste blinked down at hers. “Carys—”

“No arguments,” Carys said firmly, then glanced at Silver. Just a glance. Polite. Assessing. Maybe a little jealous—but restrained enough to pass for courtesy.

Silver accepted the mittens with a careful nod. “I feel judged,” he said mildly.

“You should,” Carys replied without missing a beat.

Then her expression softened as she looked back to Celeste.

“Be safe. Both of you. There’s stew waiting when you get back—real stew, not whatever experimental nonsense Arcade calls food.”

Celeste smiled, warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the mittens.

“Thank you. For… looking out for me. I don’t really deserve it. I caused so much trouble.”

Carys laughed, light and fond.

“You’re not wrong,” she said cheerfully. “But do come back soon. Mezzo is already difficult without you telling him off, and I’m not emotionally prepared to parent that.”

Celeste snorted. “I’ll hurry.”

Carys gave her shoulder a squeeze, then stepped back, watching them go until they disappeared into the darkened street.

They set off toward the Council Hall, the city quiet in that uneasy, post-disaster hush. Cold air curled around them, breath fogging, stone gleaming faintly with residual mana-light.

Neither of them noticed the shadow peel itself from an alleyway behind them.

Pitch watched from a rooftop, eyes narrowed.

He didn’t trust Silver.

Not for a second.

Pitch had already shifted his weight, ready to melt into the shadows, when his arcbracer gave a short, sharp ping.

He paused, flicking his wrist up just long enough to skim the message.

HUGHES: Is Celeste leaving with the Arcturus boy?

Pitch snorted under his breath, eyes tracking Celeste and Silver as they turned the corner.

“Yeah,” he muttered, thumb tapping a reply.

PITCH: Already on it.

A beat.

Another ping.

HUGHES: Thank the stars you’ve got common sense.

Pitch’s mouth twisted into a grin as he crouched, shadows licking up around his boots.

“Don’t thank me,” he murmured to no one. “I don’t trust nobles as far as I can throw ’em.”

He typed one-handed as the darkness thickened.

PITCH: I’ll make sure she comes back unharmed.

This time the reply was slower. He could almost hear the relief in it.

HUGHES: Thank you, lad. 

Pitch glanced once more at Celeste’s back—small, bright, far too kind for the mess she kept walking into.

“No problem,” he said softly. “Now—gotta jump.”

With a soft ripple of darkness, he shadow-jumped—keeping just far enough back to stay unseen, close enough to intervene if he had to.

Just in case.

Because whatever Celeste thought— 

Someone was always watching her back.