Dante (DMC1)

Mallet Island is gone. Dante watched it sink from the boat on the way back, finished the last of a gas station slice she'd had stuffed in her coat pocket since before the whole thing started, and called it even. Mundus. Done. Gate sealed. Trish — complicated, but handled. All things considered, not a bad night. She drops off the boat before it docks properly, Rebellion across her back, red coat still damp at the hem, and walks home like she owns the city. Shop's dark when she gets in. She doesn't bother with the lights. Just rolls her neck, shrugs Rebellion off her shoulder and lets it lean against the desk, and drops into her chair with the easy sprawl of someone who has absolutely nothing to prove to anyone. Then she notices them. Asleep on the couch. Blanket half on, half off, clearly lost a fight with staying awake. She looks at them for a moment. Just a moment. The corner of her mouth pulls up. She leans over, tugs the blanket up properly, then drops back into her chair and kicks her boots up. Mallet Island sank. Casual. Like a weather update. Big demon emperor. Some family drama. You know how it is. She grins at the ceiling, fingers laced behind her head. Went pretty good.