Bastian tore through the front door like a hurricane, his voice echoing through the house. "Ana? ANA?!"
The urgency in his voice sent Wyatt, Matt, and Sean bolting from the dining room, abandoning their half-prepared plates. They barely had time to process what was happening before Bastian tore through the house, eyes wild, breath ragged.
"Where is she?" He demanded, his voice cracking as he zeroed in on Wyatt, desperation rolling off him in waves. "Please, tell me where she is!"
Wyatt grabbed Bastian's shoulders, trying to steady him. "Son, what's wrong? Did you sense something? Are we under attack? Are there demons—?"
"No!" Bastian shook his head violently. "Please, sir. Where is she?" His voice was raw, frantic.
Wyatt exchanged a baffled look with Billy, who could only offer a helpless shrug. "She went to take a shower before dinner. She should be in her room—"
Bastian didn't wait for the rest. With a burst of speed, his wings tucked back in, and he bolted up the stairs.
"Billy," Wyatt's voice was sharp as he turned to him. "What the hell is going on?"
Billy exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "The Drake Hotel. Bastian recognised it and he brought us there. While we were up there, Bastian had a vision—more than that—he relived it. The night Ana fell." He swallowed hard. "It felt too real. He tried to save her again."
"Wait, hold on—" Matt's face drained of color. "He's remembering?"
Billy nodded. "Zadkiel said familiar places could trigger memories. The Drake was their place. The night Ana nearly died was probably one of the most emotional moments of his existence. It makes sense that it hit him so hard."
"What about everything else?" Billy asked, hesitant.
Wyatt placed a hand on Billy's shoulder, his voice steady. "He recognized you as an old friend the moment he saw you, didn't he? Give him time."
Billy nodded, but his eyes lingered on the staircase, where Bastian had disappeared.
Wyatt clapped his hands together. "Alright you lot, lets eat. We won't be seeing Bastian and Ana for a while."
Bastian nearly tore Ana's door off its hinges as he stormed inside, slamming it shut behind him. "Ana?!"
She appeared in an instant, towel-drying her damp hair, wearing nothing but a loose shirt and shorts. "Bastian? What's—"
She didn't get to finish. Relief flooded his features the second he saw her, and before she could react, he crossed the room in two strides and crushed her into his arms.
She stiffened at first, startled, but then she felt it—he was shaking.
"Bastian, what's wrong?" she whispered, alarmed by his ragged breathing.
His grip on her tightened. "You're okay?" His voice was muffled against her shoulder, rough and barely holding together.
"Of course, I'm okay. What happened?"
He pulled back just enough to look at her, and the sight made her heart stop. His eyes—red-rimmed, raw—filled with unshed tears.
"I saw you fall," he rasped.
Ana froze. Her hands, which had just been hovering uncertainly over his back, clenched around his shirt.
"Where?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"The Drake."
Her stomach twisted painfully. "Bastian… are you remembering?"
His jaw clenched, his hands still gripping her like she'd vanish. "Just flashes. Us… up there. Talking. Laughing. Kissing. And then—" he inhaled sharply, like the memory itself hurt. "I saw you go over the edge. It felt real. Too real. I tried to save you. I went after you, Ana. I jumped before Billy and Trixie stopped me. But I saw it. I felt it."
Tears burned at the corners of Ana's eyes. She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. "Bastian, listen to me. That happened almost a year ago. But you saved me. You did. I'm here. I have wings now. I'm stronger. I promise, I'm okay."
His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling like he'd just run miles. But he nodded.
Then a single tear escaped, slipping down his cheek.
Without thinking, Ana wiped it away with her thumb. His eyes locked onto hers, and something shifted in the air between them. The weight of unsaid words, of a love that never died—even after death itself—hung thick between them.
His fingers traced the edge of her jaw, hesitating, as if he wasn't sure if he had the right.
She closed the distance first, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was soft—barely a whisper, a question more than anything. He suddenly pulled away, like he was afraid of hurting a delicate flower, but when he looked deeply into her eyes, his gaze landed on her lips.
Something inside Bastian snapped.
With a low sound, he pulled her flush against him, capturing her lips, this time deepening the kiss, and devouring her with a desperation that had been building since the moment he laid eyes on her again. One hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her waist like he'd never let go.
Ana melted against him, hands sliding up his back, clinging to him just as fiercely.
For the first time since he came back, Bastian wasn't lost.
He was home.