They arrived in Mason's hometown under heavy gray skies.
It was a place caught between memory and erosion. Cracked sidewalks. Faded storefronts. The scent of old paper and damp wood. The air was too quiet, like the town had never forgiven the years that passed without them.
Eli walked beside Mason, suitcase trailing, eyes scanning every shuttered window and weather-worn porch.
"Looks like time stood still," he murmured.
Mason didn't respond. His jaw was clenched so tight Eli could hear it in his silence.
His brother, Luke, opened the door before Mason could knock.
He was broader now. Harder around the edges. Same steel-blue eyes. Same quiet intensity.
They stared at each other for a long beat.
Then Luke stepped aside.
"I figured if you were coming, you'd bring someone."
"This is Eli," Mason said.
Luke nodded. "You hungry?"
Dinner was tense.
Not openly hostile—but fragile, like the air could crack at any second.
Luke asked about the weather in Salt Bay. Mason gave clipped answers. Eli filled the silence when he could, but mostly observed.
It wasn't until they were alone in the living room that anything real surfaced.
Luke sat down hard on the edge of a sunken couch. "You still think I blame you."
Mason didn't meet his gaze. "You said I ruined the family."
"You did," Luke said evenly. "But I also did nothing to stop it."
Mason looked up.
Luke's voice was quiet now. "I was too ashamed to stand beside you. I thought it would ruin me, too. I thought if I kept my distance, I'd stay clean."
He sighed. "But I stayed empty."
Silence.
Then Mason asked, "Why the letter now?"
Luke met his eyes. "Because I saw your name in the paper. And I thought—God, if he's still out there fighting to live better, maybe it's time I stop hiding."
He added, "I don't know if I forgive you. But I want to try."
Later, Mason sat on the back porch alone.
Eli came out quietly, a blanket around his shoulders. "How are you?"
"Like I've been waiting ten years to exhale," Mason said.
Eli sat beside him. "Do you regret coming?"
"No. I think I regret waiting so long."
He looked at Eli. "You made me brave enough to come here."
Eli smiled faintly. "You were always brave. You just forgot."
Mason touched his cheek. "And you reminded me."
But then Eli's expression shifted.
He stood slowly and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
"What's that?" Mason asked.
"My response letter. To the residency."
Mason went still.
"I never mailed it," Eli said. "I couldn't decide."
A long pause.
Mason said, "You should go."
Eli blinked. "What?"
"I don't want to be the reason you stay behind," Mason said, voice cracking. "Not when you could be everything you're meant to be."
Eli stepped back, stunned. "Are you saying this is goodbye?"
"No," Mason whispered. "I'm saying if you go, I'll still be here. Not waiting. Not hoping. Just... loving you enough to let you choose."
Tears filled Eli's eyes. "And what if I don't come back?"
Mason swallowed hard. "Then I'll still be proud I got to love you while I could."
That night, Eli didn't sleep.
He lay in the quiet guest room, staring at the ceiling, Mason's warmth absent beside him.
Morning came with gray light and wet roads.
At the bus station, Eli stood alone, his bag at his feet. One hand gripped the residency letter.
Mason wasn't there.
Not because he didn't care.
But because he trusted Eli to decide for himself.
When the bus doors opened, Eli stepped forward.
Paused.
Looked back.
And in that moment, his heart fractured—and reformed.