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“Do you think he’ll be okay without me?”

“Thorin?” I nod slowly. “I think he’ll never be okay without you. But I think he’ll be okay for you. Because that’s who he is.”

She closes her eyes. “I miss him already.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t want him here. Not yet.”

“I know that too.”

We don’t say anything after that.

We just stay there—two women with the weight of the world on their shoulders, finding the smallest scraps of peace in a dark room with sleeping babies and bruised hearts and the soft hum of healing in the air.

And in the quiet, I swear I feel it⁠—

Hope. Small. Slow.

But steady.

Chapter Thirty-Four

FLETCH

Madison Square Garden

The walls breathe here.

That’s the only way I can describe it. Madison Square Garden doesn’t feel like a building—it feels like a memory stitched into history. Like it’s inhaling every heartbeat we’ve ever given to this band and exhaling it back at us tenfold.

Benji’s fidgeting like he might combust. Carson’s got that glassy-eyed look he gets when his brain is moving faster than his fingers can keep up. And Thorin—he’s not even blinking. Just staring straight ahead, jaw tight, chest barely moving.

He’s in soldier mode. Locked in. And that scares the shit out of me.

Alex’s phone is glued to his hand. He sent out the press release hours ago—the one about the family situation, about Reese, about grief with no clean edges. He asked for space, kindness, understanding. Not because we wanted to share, but because we had to. Because Thorin couldn’t carry the weight alone anymore.

The fans know now.

And they showed up anyway.

We take the stage, and it hits like a punch to the sternum. The lights blind. The noise deafens. And the Garden erupts like it’s been waiting for us all its life.

We open with Sanctuary.

Thorin steps to the mic like a man walking into battle. His fingers tighten on the stand. The first verse comes out low, reverent. He’s not just singing—he’s remembering. Every lyric, a thread yanked from a place he’s not ready to go.

By the bridge, his voice catches.

A sharp breath. A heartbeat too long.

Silence.

For half a second, the air tightens.

Then someone shouts, “You can do it, Thorin!”

And it spreads.