The stairs yielded under my boots with every upward stride, the concrete shuddering as the last vestiges of the Hollowkin’s dark domain fractured behind me. By the time I burst into the upper transit tunnel, the suffocating sulfur stench was already giving way to the cool night air bleeding down from the street grates above.
Ahead of me stood my family, locked in a tight, protective ring.
Neak had his staff planted across the tunnel mouth, his chest heaving, his eyes scanning the gloom until they caught mine. Relief washed over his face, sharp and sudden. Beside him, Nimol lowered her iron pipe just an inch, while Veicha and Vannak stepped back to widen the perimeter, making room for me to slot right into the center where we kept the heart of our group safe.
In the middle of our formation stood Grandma Dary and Grandpa Kiri.
Grandpa Kiri’s broad shoulders were still tense, his calloused hands wrapped tightly around Dary’s. When he saw me—saw the Golden Lotus resting quiet and steady in my palms, its harsh glare softened into a warm, gentle ember—a breath he seemed to have held for fifty years finally left his lungs. He didn't say a word. He simply reached out with his free hand and rested a heavy, warm palm against the back of my neck, pulling me close for a fraction of a second. It was the same grounding touch he used after hours of grueling Boran drills, a silent declaration that I had stood my ground and carried the family's weight.
Grandma Dary looked up at me. The iron posture that had carried her through the Khmer Rouge, through the loss of her firstborn son, and through the rebuilding of our lives in America was still there, but her eyes were wet.
"You brought her peace," Grandma whispered, her voice cracking for the first time in my memory.
"I didn't do it alone," I said, holding her gaze. "You gave us the foundation. You and Grandpa survived the worst of the old world so we could stand strong in this one. You buried the trauma, but you taught us how to protect each other."
She looked down at the Golden Lotus in my hands. The relic no longer vibrated with cold, phantom terror; its light pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, light and steady. It was no longer a burden of hidden secrets, but an inheritance—an unbroken thread connecting the past to the future.
"We move," Grandpa Kiri’s voice boomed softly, grounding us all as he looked up the transit stairwell toward the surface lights of the city. "The night isn't over, and we have a long way to go."
Neak took the lead, stepping up toward the street level. Nimol and Veicha fell into stride right beside him, while Vannak stayed close to my side. Grandma Dary wrapped her arm through Grandpa Kiri’s, leaning into his side as they walked, two pillars who had survived every fire the world had thrown at them, now guided by the next generation they had forged to be unyielding.
We walked out of the dark transit tunnel and into the cold air together. Behind us, the basement was silent, the old ghosts laid to rest. Ahead of us, the road was uncertain, but as I looked at my siblings, my cousins, and my grandparents standing shoulder to shoulder, I knew one truth with absolute certainty:
Whatever came next, no one was getting left behind.