The private reception hall felt smaller than I remembered, though nothing about its dimensions had changed. Perhaps it was because I had grown used to the vast crystal caves of Xerion Prime, or maybe because the people filling it now carried themselves differently—taller, more confident, touched by power that hadn't been there when I left.
Stella claimed her spot on my lap with the kind of determined efficiency that suggested she'd been planning this moment for months. At eleven, she was getting too big for such things, but neither of us cared about dignity right now. Her small hands traced the new scars on my arms with curious precision.
"You look different," she announced with typical directness. "Older. And you have more scars than before."
"Two years fighting demons will do that," I replied, settling her more comfortably as the others arranged themselves around us. "But you look different too. Taller. And your hair is longer."
