The kitchens were mostly empty by the time Julian arrived, the fox already scrambling up onto a bench with undisguised anticipation as one of the kitchen staff, recognizing him immediately, hurried to gather whatever could be prepared fastest.
“eat slowly,” the fox advised, watching him settle in with a plate of simple, hearty food. “you just woke up from a day and a half of unconsciousness. your stomach probably has opinions about sudden, enthusiastic eating.”
“you didn’t seem concerned about that a moment ago,” Julian pointed out, though he took the advice anyway, pacing himself despite the hunger gnawing sharp beneath his exhaustion.
“I was concerned about my own hunger,” the fox said, unbothered, already devouring its own share with considerably less restraint. “yours is a separate issue entirely.”
They ate in comfortable quiet for a while, the kitchen’s calm, ordinary rhythm settling something steady back into Julian’s chest after the chaos of the past several days. He’d barely finished when footsteps sounded fast and familiar in the corridor beyond, and Reid appeared in the doorway moments later, relief crashing visible across his exhausted features at the sight of Julian upright and eating.
“you’re awake,” Reid said, crossing the kitchen fast. “properly awake, not just stirring. the healers said you might need another full day.”
“apparently I recover faster than expected,” Julian said, something wry threading through his tired voice. “or the fox’s threats were simply more motivating than medical advice.”
“accurate,” the fox confirmed, unbothered.
Reid settled into the seat across from him, exhaustion and lingering worry both still evident despite the obvious relief. “how are you feeling,” he asked.
“tired,” Julian admitted. “but steady. better than after the coma, at least.” He set down his fork, something more serious settling behind his expression now. “Reid. Xavier and Ian. what happened to them after you pulled me away.”
Reid’s jaw tightened slightly, weighing his words carefully before answering. “I told them they could go,” he said. “that nobody was stopping them, given everything that had just happened and how much it cost you to bring them back. I made it clear I didn’t trust them, and that forgiveness wasn’t mine to offer even if I wanted to.”
Julian absorbed that slowly, turning the information over with careful attention. “and they left.”
“I don’t know,” Reid admitted. “I didn’t stay to watch. getting you somewhere safe took priority over monitoring whatever they decided to do next.” He paused, something more cautious entering his voice now. “there’s been no further report of them since. no sightings, no incidents. either they’ve gone somewhere quiet to figure out what comes next, or they’ve simply vanished entirely.”
Julian nodded slowly, something complicated settling behind his tired eyes — relief that they hadn’t caused further immediate harm, tangled uncomfortably with genuine uncertainty about what he actually wanted their fate to be.
“do you regret it,” Reid asked carefully. “bringing them back. after everything they did to you.”
Julian considered the question honestly, turning it over with the same careful weight he’d given every difficult decision since waking from his first, longer coma. “no,” he said finally. “I don’t think I do. whatever they did, whatever cruelty they were capable of before that thing hollowed them out entirely — I don’t think anyone deserves to have their entire will stripped away and turned into a weapon without a say in it. not even them.”
“that’s a more generous conclusion than most people would reach,” Reid said quietly.
“maybe,” Julian said. “or maybe I understand better than most people what it feels like to have your own body and choices taken from you entirely. I wasn’t going to let that happen to anyone if I had the power to stop it, even people who’d done exactly that to me first.”
Reid studied him a long moment, something warm and complicated crossing his exhausted features. “you’re a better person than this Empire probably deserves,” he said finally.
“probably,” Julian agreed, something faintly wry cutting through the exhaustion. “though I’d appreciate it if word of that generosity didn’t reach the council before I’ve had a chance to eat a full meal in peace.”
Reid huffed a tired laugh, some of the tension finally easing from his shoulders. “speaking of the council,” he said, “they’ve been considerably more insistent since the Elite Academy incident. word of what you did there — the legendary rank, clearing the horde, reversing corruption on turned Sentinels — it’s spread fast. faster than anything else that’s happened since your return.”
Julian’s jaw tightened slightly. “how insistent.”
“the audience they originally requested has become something closer to a demand,” Reid admitted. “though the Emperor’s held firm that it happens on your terms, whenever you’re actually ready. he hasn’t budged on that, despite considerable pressure.”
Something warm and unresolved settled behind Julian’s tired expression at the mention of the Emperor, memory of the fox’s earlier, teasing comment about repeated visits surfacing again now that his mind had cleared properly.
“he visited,” Julian said, not quite a question.
“every day since you collapsed,” Reid confirmed, something quietly approving in his tone now. “sat right there beside your bed for hours, more than once. missed at least two council sessions doing it, from what I understand, which I’m told is fairly unprecedented behavior for him.”
Julian absorbed that slowly, something complicated and warm tangling together behind his exhausted composure. He thought of the days before the Elite Academy incident, of the careful, guarded distance that had settled between them after his initial, cautious warmth — the Emperor’s absence stretching unresolved and unexplained across several days before everything had spiraled into fresh crisis.
“I should find him,” Julian said finally, decision settling steady despite his lingering exhaustion.
“he’s been in council sessions most of today,” Reid said. “trying to manage the fallout from the Elite Academy attack alongside everything else. but I imagine he’d drop all of it in a heartbeat if he knew you were awake and asking for him.”
Julian considered that, something almost fond flickering behind his tired eyes despite everything still unresolved between them. “don’t tell him yet,” he said finally. “let him finish whatever he’s managing properly first. I’ll find him once he’s done.”
Reid studied him a moment, something curious and quietly pleased crossing his own exhausted features. “that’s more patience than I expected from you,” he observed.
“I’ve had considerable practice being patient this past year,” Julian said dryly. “might as well put it to good use somewhere that actually matters.”
The fox, having finished its own meal entirely, hopped up onto the table between them, tails curling content now that its earlier hunger had been thoroughly addressed. “for what it’s worth,” it interjected, “I think he’ll be relieved either way, whenever he finds out. patience or not.”
Julian glanced toward it, something warm cutting faint through his exhaustion. “we’ll see,” he said, though the words carried more hope than doubt now, settling quiet and steady in the kitchen’s calm, ordinary stillness, the weight of everything still unresolved — the council’s mounting pressure, Xavier and Ian’s uncertain fate, the entity’s promised return — waiting patiently just beyond this brief, hard-won moment of simple, grounding peace.