The door opened on Cynthia, who came in with one hand closed around her brother's sleeve, hauling him along the last few steps as if he might make a run for it.
"He's been trying to talk himself out of coming up here since the gate," she announced. "Twice."
"I wasn't." Bartholomew's glasses were sitting crooked already. "I was saying we should give them warning before we all came piling in at once, which is different."
"It's the same thing said politely."
Behind them came Xavier, with the same scarf wound twice around his neck that he'd worn always Trafalgar had known him, crimson hair full of melting snow and his mismatched eyes going straight past everybody to the bundle in Aubrelle's arms. Vivienne followed him in, unhurried, blue hair down over one shoulder and her light eyes moving around the room, taking in the corners of it first the way she always did.
"There he is," Xavier said. "Trafalgar du Morgain, a father. The world's gone completely sideways."
