Stone scrapes against Y/n's palms as they push themselves up. The Academy courtyard. Familiar. Unchanged. The fountain still trickles water, the hedges still trimmed into perfect geometric shapes. It smells like grass and dew and nothing like rot.

Beside them, Five is already on his feet.

The Academy doors slam open.

Luther fills the frame first. Massive. Stunned. His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air. Behind him, Allison makes a sound — a small, broken thing — and presses both hands to her mouth.

And Y/n feels it — the weight of decades pressing down on their shoulders, the phantom ache of a world that no longer exists. The memory of Five's hand in theirs during the last night before the jump. The way he'd looked at them and said, Trust me.

They're home.