When they arrive at the little town just outside the Namornese border where she last left her siblings, Tris squeezes both of their hands reassuringly before leading the way off the bus and down the road toward the inn.

On the way, she's shown Silna Erskine's drawings of her siblings, Briar with his chin propped on his hands, which are covered in flowering tattoos, Daja with her many braids, bare-armed and muscled, working in the forge, Sandry bent over a sewing project. One picture of the four of them together, younger, sprawled on a thatched roof. At least they'll be recognizable, even if they're still strangers.

Briar, outside examining the inn's vegetable garden, turns when he senses Tris's approach. He raises his eyebrows and offers the trio a lazy wave. "Coppercurls, when you told us you were bringing home a husband I didn't think you meant tomorrow."

Tris grins. "You know I like efficiency," she replies briskly, never mind that it's been a lot longer than a day from her perspective. "Briar, this is Harry Goodsir, your soon-to-be brother-in-law, and our friend Silna. Silna and Harry, my adopted brother Briar Moss."