This is what hope feels like, the feverish rush of practice in their last two weeks in New Orleans, the sweet prattle of his children—"Mama's touching people!"—the way Mercy smiles like she used to before her own loss, Henri's congratulations, Tante Mattie's knowing smile, Jean-Luc's toast and open approval of Remy's choice in wife.

Everything's going to be okay.

He's never felt this way before, not since everything with Belladonna went so, so wrong. Not since exile.

Not his past nor her mutation can dampen his spirits now. Nothing in their future can possibly take this feeling away.