The bottle hung loosely in Ritchie’s hand, but he didn’t drop it yet.

The guild hall felt smaller than it usually did, like all the usual noise had been pushed into the corners and left there, waiting for permission to come back.

Brandon stayed where he was, but his attention didn’t waver. There was something steady in the way he watched Ritchie, the kind of focus that came from knowing someone too well to be fooled by a grin or a joke.

Lucas shifted his stance again, less confrontational now, more uncertain. David’s arms had dropped from their tight cross, though his expression still held that tired concern. Mario had stopped pacing, clearly torn between saying something and not making it worse. Devin was standing beside Brandon, unsure what to do.

Kit hadn’t moved at all. Just watched Ritchie with that same quiet, assessing focus, like they were trying to understand the shape of the problem before reacting to it.

And Inmo was still leaning on the stairs, fidgeting with the railing like the tension in the room was mildly inconvenient rather than heavy. He looked more confused than anything else, eyebrows knit together as he glanced between everyone else.

“This is still weird,” Inmo muttered. “Like… he’s literally right there. Why’s everyone acting like he disappeared or something?”

Mario shot him a look again. “Because something’s wrong.”

Inmo opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly not satisfied but not having a better argument.

Brandon finally moved closer to Ritchie, stopping at a careful distance. Not invading space. Not backing off either.

“Ritchie,” Brandon said quietly, voice even. “No one’s asking you to fix everything right now.”

Lucas nodded slightly. “Just… don’t shut us out.”

David added, more bluntly, “You showing up like this isn’t nothing.”

Kit’s voice was softer, but firm. “It never is.”

The guild remained unusually still behind them, like even the building itself was listening.

Inmo shifted again on the stairs. “Okay, but can someone explain why alcohol automatically equals ‘end of the world’ behavior?” he asked, genuinely confused, then added, “People drink stuff all the time.”

Mario groaned under his breath. “That’s not what this is about.”

Inmo frowned harder. “Then what is it about?”