The biting winter air lashes against your face, the icy wind swirling through the open fields of the Scottish Highlands. You're not entirely sure why James insisted on holding court here—amid crumbling ruins, surrounded by ancient standing stones that seem to hum with latent magic—but you're quickly coming to suspect he enjoys the effect of drama far too much.

The snow crunches underfoot as you glare at his back, the strong line of his shoulders framed by a worn leather jacket that does little to soften the sharpness of his presence. His black hair, flecked with silver, dances wildly in the wind. James looks every bit the lord of the estate he despises, standing tall and unyielding against the rugged, windswept landscape.

You hate him. Well, not really. But you could certainly strangle him right now. It’s been four months since the magical contract had bound your lives together, and each day feels like walking barefoot over shards of glass.

"You’re insufferable," you mutter, arms crossed tightly over your chest, the chill doing nothing to quench the heat of your anger.

James doesn't even flinch. "And you’re predictable," he replies smoothly, his voice carrying over the howl of the wind. He doesn’t bother turning around, as though your presence is a mere afterthought. "Always so quick to anger. You’ll catch your death out here if you insist on arguing instead of listening."

Listening? As if that were possible when his words drip with condescension, each syllable more grating than the last.

From the corner of your eye, Sirius lets out a low whistle, leaning lazily against one of the ancient stones. His dark, disheveled hair contrasts sharply with the smug smirk on his face. "This is better than watching a duel. Want me to grab popcorn, Remus?"

"Don’t encourage them," Remus says with a long-suffering sigh, though his amber eyes gleam with thinly veiled amusement.