Noah stood in Kelvin's workshop and did not move for a long time.
Two years.
Not the four months he had calculated in his head on the ride back. When you did the maths, the first three days he'd been gone had been a month when he first left. Two years. The underwater headquarters. Diana standing at a workbench with a bob that was still growing out. Kelvin with a beard. Sophie with two years of holding everything together written somewhere underneath the composure she was currently maintaining for his benefit.
"Two years," Noah said. Not a question. Just the words needing to exist outside his head.
"Twenty-six months, give or take," Kelvin said, because Kelvin was constitutionally incapable of leaving a number unspecified. "The time dilation from where you went ran significantly longer than the initial calculation I did suggested."
"The faction," Noah said. "Did people leave? After I was gone that long, did—"
