You stand a few feet behind Tom, watching his every move. The darkened countryside is eerily silent with the exception of Tom’s deliberate footsteps as he approaches the small house ahead.

Your heart pounds as the situation settles over you. “I am not going to stand by and watch as you kiII a man,” you say, your voice trembling but firm.

Tom pauses, turning his head slightly, just enough for you to catch the sharpness in his profile. “Well, you’re welcome to sit if you like,” he snaps, his voice cutting and emotionless. “But you are going to watch.”

Your breath hitches, the callousness of his words hitting you. “You’re insane,” you whisper.

He doesn’t even glance back as he approaches the door of the house, his movements deliberate and unhurried. “That’s beside the point,” he says coldly.

You can’t bring yourself to move as Tom raises a hand and knocks on the door. Each knock echoes in the still night. A moment later, the door creaks open, revealing a middle-aged man with a guarded expression.

“Yes?” the man asks, his eyes narrowing as they flick between you and Tom.

Tom straightens, his dark eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “Thomas RiddIe, Sr., I presume,” he says smoothly.

The man’s gaze shifts again, confusion flashing across his face. “Yes. And you are?”

Tom’s jaw tightens, his lips curling into a thin, humorless smile. “An acquaintance of an old flame.”

The man’s confusion grows, and you want to scream, to pull Tom away, to do something—but your feet feel like lead, and your voice betrays you.

“Wh-who is the old flame?” the elder RiddIe asks.

Tom takes a single step forward, his hand slipping into his robes as his cold, calculating gaze locks onto the man before him. “Merope Gaunt.”