The TRB car dropped James at the end of the road a little after two in the morning, because even now, even here, there might be a photographer, and he walked the last stretch to the house with his hood up and his ruined gear in a Bureau duffel over his shoulder.
The kitchen light was on. Of course it was.
He got as far as putting his key in the door. He never got to turn it.
The door was wrenched open from inside, and something hit him at chest height moving at a speed that would have flagged on a Tower scanner. Two arms locked around his ribs. Two dragon wings snapped out to their full span behind her, knocking the umbrella stand over, blocking the entire doorway, and Nyra buried her face in his chest and gripped him like the house was flooding.
"Hey—" James got one arm free and put it around her. "Hey. Nyra. I'm here."
