Sylvester walked over, moving at the head of a slightly more sedate wave of people. He nodded to me. “I told you not to worry, didn’t I?”

I stepped away from Quentin and May. “You could’ve warned me.”

“And had you mouth off to the Queen more than you already were?”

He had a point. I do tend to get cocky. “It was still sneaky.”

“Agreed.” I leaned over to hug him, ignoring the way my scabbard dug into my belly. That seemed to be some sort of cue, because Stacy, Cassandra, and Raj hit us from the left, while Walther, Mitch, and Connor came from the right. Someone in the middle of that massive, relieved embrace was laughing; after a moment, I realized it was me.

We weren’t finished. Raysel was missing, and Simon, wherever he was, wasn’t going to be happy about Oleander’s death. The Queen of the Mists hated me, and Goldengreen was full of Lily’s former subjects. Luna was recovering, but weak. And for the moment, none of that mattered. We were here, we were alive, and somehow, things were going to work out. I was sure of it. Things have to work out in the end, even if it takes throwing yourself at them until something gives way. Most of the time it’s you, but sometimes, when you get lucky, it’s the world.

“Satisfied now?” asked Sylvester, shouting to be heard over the crowd.

I grinned, shaking my head. “You bastard.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” We weren’t done yet—the world probably still needed to be saved. The world almost always needs to be saved.

The world could wait.

Closing my eyes, I leaned forward and hugged Sylvester more tightly, letting the laughter of the people around me chase away the fears of the last few months. It would be all right, because we would make it that way. We had to. Wait and see.