The living room of the Academy hadn't changed in sixteen years. Same claw-footed furniture. Same dust motes floating through the same afternoon light. Same smell of old books and repressed emotions.
"Number Seven wants to talk ," Five said, materializing from a blue-green rift in the middle of the room. He looked twelve. He sounded a hundred and twelve. "We have eleven minutes until the Moon falls. Talk fast."
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"I'll get Klaus a glass of water," said Allison.
Vanya lowered her violin case to the floor with a soft click. "Can we just... talk? Before we charge into whatever apocalypse this is?" The living room of the Academy hadn't changed
"What plan?" Diego had a knife out, twirling it between his fingers like a fidget toy. "The one where you punch first and think never?"
"I heard that," said the empty air beside Klaus. Ben, probably. Same smell of old books and repressed emotions
And for just three seconds — before the end of the world, again — the Umbrella Academy almost felt like a family.