"Home." To an outsider, it would look strange to be talking to herself. But, after being trapped and alone on the island for so long, then isolated in research while home- followed by Kitezch, Laura was used to being the only company she had. If she didn't talk to herself, then Yamatai would have driven her insane. Well, more insane than it had. She hadn't survived the island intact. None of them really had, but Laura had been the youngest of them. Sam had been close, but Sam…

It hurt to think about Sam. She left, soon after they got back to civilization. Sam had been distant for the week they spent together after returning to civilization, cataloging and reporting the events of the island. It was all work, all business, and then she vanished. No explanation at all. It hurt, burned Laura to have been so close to someone and have them walk away cold. It certainly hadn't helped her trust issues. She had been so paranoid, so certain that they were out to get her, Laura shivered just imagining it. She had been right, after all, about Trinity, but if Jonah hadn't ambushed her and made her see reason, well, there wouldn't be any more Crofts. He had been truly invaluable. Not just for labor or skills, of which he was happily competent, but for companionship. He didn't argue with her or try to force his decisions. He recognized that she knew her stuff and was happy to let her take the lead. He was solid support, a rock in an otherwise turbulent sea of trouble. The only time he would make an ironclad decision was when it was for her own good. When she was pushing too hard and got sick or hadn't slept or eaten in a week, he would force a full stop until she improved. Jonah kept her together, and though him, she reconciled her relationship with Reyes.

Reyes, who had written, to address the whole affair that had been Kitezch. It fit on a single side of a souvenir postcard. Jonah let some things slip, and Reyes did her normal prickly help-you-but-it-hurts. She really was a maternal cactus.

Laura,

Jonah contacted me about your recent adventures. What you did was risky, and foolish. But, you're both alive. From what I've gathered, it took another miracle for the two of you to escape intact. You can't keep relying on miracles to save you! Use your brain, girl, and stop acting so childish. That said, I also heard about your shrink. Don't get upset, I've got one too. Everyone who walked off that island does, Sam included. She still doesn't want to talk to you, but she'll come around. So, the one you had sold you out. Lucky for you, I've got a buddy over there in the UK. He's got a friend who does this for veterans. Not quite the same, but maybe this one will be better. I'll pass word to you when I can.

Take care of yourself, and think before you drag Jonah on another harebrained expedition! If something were to happen to either of you, well, it wouldn't be good for my recovery. So don't.

Reyes

P. S. hey Laura, thanks for taking care of my mom. She means well, but she's a tough love person. I hope your last expedition wasn't as bad as it sounded, but, maybe the next one will be better! Stay safe!

Alecia

The other side said, "Greetings from Mount Rushmore!" It felt bemusingly fitting.

It seemed everyone in her life knew that she was crazy. Laura had, eventually, followed up on the shrink. Dr. Norton had been good for Laura. He was certified not only by the board, but by Reyes' discreet military contacts. He was good at keeping things classified. Laura knew. She might have broken into his office and tried to get to the recordings or notes- but he cleaned up well. Her light stalking revealed that Dr. Norton was married, had grown, independent children, and raised foster dogs. His wife was a nice lady who was unfortunately in the early stages of Alzheimer's. Laura thought she should feel bad, but this was a comfort to her. Less security leaks. Her paranoia had never really gone away. Not while she had ample evidence to the contrary, that she was not, in fact, safe.

It had been Norton's suggestion to come back. To come home. Home, not the studio she rented in the city, or the one in Japan, or Istanbul, nor New York or LA or DC or Lisbon or Seoul or Vancouver, but to Croft manor. Ancestral Home, rather than just temporary home. His actual suggestion was just to visit the place, but Laura never did anything half baked. No, if she was going to go see the old home, she was going to go through all of it. Her dad's holdings, her mom's legacy. Currently, the entire Croft fortune was tied up in legal hell. Nothing could really be done with it until she either accepted it or declined it, and as she had a great ability to dodge pushy lawyers and disappear into thin air, she had put off signing for six whole years.

So, here she was standing at the gates to the old stone mansion. She threaded through the chain and iron bars, not bothering to unlock them. She didn't need to, much to Jonah's dismay. "You should not be so thin, Laura! This isn't healthy. You need to take better care of yourself. What if you get stabbed or shot? You need more fat to cushion your organs. Promise me, little bird."

He wasn't wrong, but the effects of Yamatai, the manic search for her father's ghost, and then Kitezch and Trinity- Laura knew she wasn't okay. She had purposefully not looked at her medical file or gone to any of the follow up appointments beyond the PT. She didn't want to know how badly old age was going to be, or what new things she was at risk for now. She was a survivor, but life was about more than just surviving. The worry wouldn't do anything good for her. Focus on the now, enjoy the moments. Like this one.

The moon was out in full over the manor, pale beams casting long shadows. The estate sat neglected, but it had been regal once, and she remembered the look fondly. It was crumbling, but still sat proud and sturdy on the hill. She had to be careful not to twist her ankle in the potholes. Like any respectable mid-20th century noble, the drive had been made of crushed rock. Rock, which after six years of neglect, was full of weeds and washed out rain ruts. Laura managed to make it to the front door without twisting anything. She tested the front door and found it locked, which garnered a rueful smile.

The executor, who had been very shocked to find his most illusive and lucrative contract sitting in his office when he returned from lunch, only offered a token protest to Laura scaling his building and sneaking into his office. Given her reputation, both in the papers and within his own circles, he was quick to forgive, eager to get things finally moving. He had assured her that the manor had been secured after her parent's death, the furniture and artifacts moved out before the whole place being locked away. He was very adamant that everything was being done by the book.

Looking at the broken window next to the front door, Laura was certain that he had known about the broken window and wanted to cover himself from any liability. She elected to unlock the door, rather than climb through the window. This was, after all, her home. She should probably get used to using the door. As she pushed the door open, broken glass clattered along the floor. The executor hadn't been facetious, not at all. The welcome hall was barren. No furniture or tapestries, no artifacts or manuscripts. Nothing at all besides plastic sheeting and stone walls. Oh, and a few fast food wrappers. Laura clicked on her light and began to wander.

The east wing had been her and her parents' home. The master bedroom was much the same, and yet completely different. If she closed her eyes, she still adjusted for the bedframe that had sat in the same place for almost her entire life. Yet, the stone floor and walls, the sloped roof, it was all so strange. Laura's mother hated the bare stone, said it made her feel uncomfortable and rough. So, the entire master room had been covered with cloth. Tapestries and pillows and rugs and drapes and fluffy blankets- with all of the comfort stripped way the room had almost no memories.

Next door was her old room. It too was empty and cold, but she expected as much. She had been away at boarding school when her mom died, and well, she remembered her dad's passing. Especially since being starkly reminded of it just a month previous. She made a mental note to not go into his study tonight. She didn't need those memories, not now. Across the hall had been the guest room. As Laura walked through, hand trailing on the doorframe, her fingers traced a carving set into the stone. E. H. C.

"ECH? Edmund Hillard Croft!" Laura's mind supplied. As the last living relative, Edmund had been precious to her. He had reached out to her soon after her return from the island. He wanted to meet, to talk. It had been a long time since they exchanged more than Christmas cards. So, she hopped a flight from Korea to New Zealand.

Lord Edmund Croft was her grandfather's elder brother. He had unfortunately gotten himself cast out of the line of inheritance. During a trip while he was in school, he toured Australia, which had been a colony at the time. He fell in love. Not with a girl, but with the land. Edmund phoned home, quietly explained what he wanted, and hung up. Two weeks later, he got a letter. In the letter was the papers for his inheritance, with one rider on- to accept it he had to renounce his claim to the family title, and further gains. Edmund, heavy hearted but resigned, signed the documents. He took the money and invested it in land. Due to a slight mistake in measuring, Edmund bought a lot more than he thought. A lot more. He thought they were negotiating kilometers, not acres. Overnight, he became a minor real estate mogul, simply due to the size of his holdings. Off-center from the overnight change in attitude, he ordered construction for a home in his closest property. The workers started, and he laid back to wait. Three days later, he gets a frantic call. Once he makes the man calm down, he starts to understand. The man is calling because some devil liquid is gushing out of the ground and soaking everything. It's thick and viscous and smells awful and- Edmund stops him there, thanks him for the work he had done and negotiates severance pay for him and his crew, after assuring the man that he has done no wrong. Edmund opens the first oil business in Australia. To his dismay, he only grows in prestige and popularity. He looks at his massive holdings and picks another spot to build a home. Three weeks later, a French chemist on holiday stops by and tells him that the rocks his workers are digging up are dangerous. Construction halts again, and this time the Aussie government step in. They inspect the property, assess the trouble, and on the chemists advise, lease the property from Mr. Croft. Edmund, though discouraged, sets out to build a third home. This time, he picks a place far away from the others. He throws a dart at the map and picks a swath of outback. He hires yet another crew of workers and gives them strict instructions to make the holding work.

It's a month before he checks in to find that they are doling their best, but that he should probably hire security. The place is swarming with vagrants, all holding picks and shovels. Opals they tell him. Opals. Edmund, vexed, does the only sensible thing- he returns to the city and emigrates. He purchases a small island in New Zealand and has a home constructed with orders that no matter what is there, be it the gates of hell or God himself, there will be a home on the island, and he will be living there. Construction goes smoothly, and no supernatural phenomena reveal themselves. Edmund starts to live his life, finally in peace. Then the mail is delivered, with a considerable pile of contracts. Everyone wants to buy some of his land or dig for opals. Else, they want to be allowed to do research in his radioactive quarantine zone. Or, yet another batch, they want to drill for more oil. Edmund quietly curses the fates, digs out the one book on estate management he was forced to take, and sets to building self sufficient businesses.

The few times he returned to England, Laura remembers, he was nice. He and her father got along well. He always came with trinkets or stories for both Laura and her Mother. He was her favorite and only Uncle, and when he sent for her after Yamatai, she came. Edmund sat her down and they talked. He had never imagined outliving his brother, much less his nephew. He had fallen and broken his hip while she had been trapped on the island. That had been his wake-up call that he was not going to be around forever. For a near century old man, Edmund Croft was in great shape. He attributed it to the climate and diet but waved her remarks away. He informed her that while he had let her ignore her father's holdings, she could not do the same with his when he passed. His investments, while somewhat stable, did need managing. The doctor had advised him that he had a few years at best. He passed down to Laura his will and left everything besides the house to her. The house was to be donated to the local library. Edmund had grown to love reading as he aged and wanted to give back.

He had passed while she had been in Kitezch. There had been a storm, and he hadn't made it. His last will and testament had been executed, and Laura had another sword with a jewel in its hilt in her collection. (It was currently on loan to the Australian Government, as they wished to honor the man who had jump started their economy so long ago.) Laura had a video conference in three days to meet with his administrative assistants and take the reins.

Laura, pulled out of memories by something skittering in the hall, added scheduling a fumigator and a pest control appointment to her overflowing to do list. She resumed her wanderings, absently counting the multitude of empty fireplaces. There were no less than sixteen in the east wing alone! She cut through the kitchens, blinking back the image of her mother perched on the stone island, coat on her shoulders, eating a carton of ice cream with a spoon. Laura never found out what had prompted that event, only that her mother had given her 8-year-old daughter a look, before digging another spoon out of the drawer. Laura hopped up and together, they finished the carton. Poor Richard never knew why his wife and daughter had no appetite that night at dinner.

"I'm keeping the countertops." Laura stated, resting a hand on them. "I promise, some of this place will stay. But I can't leave all of it. Croft manor hasn't been modernized since granddad had the lights strung up. It's time we joined the modern age."

She left the ancient kitchens behind ducking through a collapsed doorway to the west wing. Progress was blocked by a massive tree that had fallen through the connecting hall. Some sheeting had been strung up to try and keep the elements out, but they were torn. Laura had no idea when the tree had fallen. It could have been last month, could have been four years. She wrote off exploring the west side, and slowly walked back to the front. Flashing blue lights greeted her as she slipped out the door.

"Halt! Put your hands up, you're trespassing on private property!" an officer shouted.

"Okay! Okay." Laura raised her hands. "I'm not trespassing, however."

"Unless your name is Croft, yes you are. I don't know what the local boys may have told you, but Lady Croft is not dead. She owns this, even if she doesn't want to admit it." The officer shouts, motioning for her to approach slowly. Laura walks forward slowly, eyeing the revolver in the other officer's hand.

"If you'll let me grab my wallet, I can prove that I am Laura Croft." Laura says.

"Which pocket?" The loud officer asks.

"Inside left jacket." Laura replies, leaning forward so that it swings open. He reaches in, braced for her to fight. While he is grabbing her ID, the other sights in on her chest.

"No funny business, now." He says.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Laura replies, giving him a weak smile.

The other officer withdraws, unfolding her slim wallet and shining his light on it.

"Dave," he whispers, "Dave, she's come home." He shoves the officer's gun down.

"Sorry for the confusion Miss Croft."

"It's alright. I'm glad you are taking good care of this place. It's certainly seen better days." Laura smiles, tucking her wallet back in her jacket.

"We've done our best, but there's only so much that can be done. This is Dave, and I'm Roger. We're from the town just down the road." He seems nervous, and she can tell there is another question.

"What's on your mind?"

"Are you- its no place of ours, but- are you back? Are you coming home?" Roger asks. Laura laughs a little.

"I'm not sure. I plan to move back in here eventually, but there is a lot of work to be done before the manor is livable again. It might be a while."

"If you're truly coming home, then drop by for the harvest festival next weekend." Dave adds. "You owe it to these people."

"Dave!"

"I owe it to them?' Laura asks.

"You've been away a long time. We're a little old fashion out here, which is why we still have a harvest festival. It used to be not too long ago, that the lord of an area took care of the people around his estate. Your grandfather did, and your father followed his footsteps. He paid for the library renovations eight years ago. All out of his pocket. Some understanding is at hand. You are the youngest Croft to be head in a long time. You also have had some adventures, and I get the sense that you're not done being an adventurer just yet. Still, if you're truly coming home, then come to the festival. People want to meet you. You are our local celebrity, after all." The corners of his mouth twitch upward with mirth at his last comment.

"Ugh. Fame. Why can't it go away?" Laura moans.

"Make friends with the folk in town- they'll keep the riffraff and glory hounds away. First line of defense, per say."

"That actually sounds like a great idea." Laura says.

"You'd better show. I'm telling everyone that we saw you. Let us know when you plan to start doing major repairs on the old place and we'll cordon off the roads for the big trucks to get by." Dave offers.

"That sounds good, thank you."

"Ma'am." He tips his hat and Roger and he get into their cruiser.

"Wait!" Laura shouts.

"Yes?' Roger asks.

"How is it that you have a firearm? Britain made gun ownership illegal three years ago." She asks.

"Local ordinances don't prohibit it. That and every time they come down here with a complaint, I show them the wolves. They quickly give up regulating out here." Dave explains.

"What would it take to get a permit from the locals for my own… collection." Laura asks.

His jovial attitude grows serious again. "Prove that you know what you're doing with them, and make sure I'm aware that no one but you can get them, and that none of us are in any danger from you. Then, I'll consider it."

"Goodnight, officers." Laura says, letting them drive off.

Laura relocked the gate and sat on her bike for a moment, looking at the dilapidated manor. It was strange, but she felt safe within its walls. Safer than she had felt in a long time. There was something about he solid construction, the overtures to old architecture that screamed castle. The gates, the massive doors, it all made her feel safe. Legend has it that the old Crofts were buried somewhere on the property, in some hidden mausoleum. Maybe she would find it. While she had never placed much stock in ghost stories growing up, after Yamatai and Kitezch, Laura was a firm believer in spirits. If she was going to update and uproot parts of the manor, to repair and rebuild, then she was running the risk of disturbing her ancestors. They wouldn't be vengeful, not to her, but Laura would prefer to keep them satisfied. Respect for the dead was important after all. They had earned their rest. Especially if the legends were true. Ser Croft, the original, Ser Croft- he built this place. Raised it from nothing. There was also no record of his knighting, but he most definitely had a title. He was knighted, but the ceremony hadn't been recorded, so no one knew why.

As she put on her helmet and eased out to the road, Laura remembered the last time she felt this safe. It had been in the old city. If she was honest, the city had nothing to do with it. It had been Jacob.

When it was just her and the prophet, whether they were discussing the history of the city, the events and the memories, or even getting shot at- maybe it was part of his power, but she actually felt her defenses drop. She could trust him, could lean on him. When she first met him, that sleep she got in the cave was the best she had in months, maybe even years. He disapproved of her determination to find the source, but ultimately assisted her on her quest. Sofia and the other remnant had stayed when she left, but it was obvious that they would soon be striking out to find out more about the modern world. With both Jacob and the Divine Source gone, they had no real reason to stay, other than to safeguard the city from looters. Kitezch was lost no more. She missed Jacob. And Sophia.

As she pulled away, she added another note to invite Soph for a visit. She'd find some way to get in contact. She was a multi-millionaire after all.