"Ronan's been here for over a year," Henry said softly in answer to Gansey's not-question about the escapability of Darrow. Henry was fairly certain it was pushing toward a year and a half for Ronan, now. "And the other--that was before my time. I haven't asked much. But I know that sometimes...sometimes people vanish. Not like they packed up and left. But like they were hardly here at all."

Henry assumed, but had never asked because it would be too much to bear, that that was what had happened with the one from before. Who was not this one--but was--because Gansey was Gansey was Gansey. The difference, of course, was that Gansey had no recollection of this place. Which supposed that, if any of them returned home, Darrow would fade from their minds like a bad dream.

It was almost a comfort. Except they were all here.

What was more of a comfort, though, was that they were home. Henry had gotten his audience. Just as the world had moved on and Ronan had been there to see it from when he'd arrived, the world had moved on from when Henry had arrived, and he was there. He was part of we. Jeong. It swelled in his chest.

Softly, he said, "Jeong, bro," which seemed very suiting for this moment. Had he ever told Gansey of jeong? He did not think so. "Let me refill your coffee, Richard."