“It’s three hours long, Mark,” she said, tucking her feet under a blanket. “We have work tomorrow.”

“Three hours and forty-eight minutes,” he corrected, settling beside her. “Think of it as a pilgrimage. We’re not just watching a movie. We’re walking to Mordor.”

She took his hand. “No—I mean, it’s too short. How is it over? I feel like I just left Bag End.”

And in the quiet that followed, Elena realized something about the Fellowship runtime: it wasn’t a length to endure. It was a door you stepped through. And on the other side, you weren’t quite the same person who’d pressed play.

Her tea went cold. She didn’t notice. The fellowship formed. Sean Bean’s Boromir spoke of Gondor with such weary pride. When they entered the Mines of Moria, the darkness seeped into the room. Mark reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away.

Mark, clutching two steaming mugs of tea, grinned. “Theatrical? No, no. Tonight, we go Extended .”

Elena’s eyes widened. “That’s nearly four hours.”

“Tomorrow?” she asked.