"How refreshing..."

Albert exhaled softly, his voice barely louder than the sea breeze curling through the dusk. The wind brushed against his face and tousled his hair, cool and clean—a sharp contrast to the dry, lifeless air he'd grown used to behind prison walls. The last glow of sunlight bathed the horizon in molten amber, casting long shadows over the seaport where he stood, hands buried deep in his overcoat pockets.

Three years had passed since that night. Three long, suffocating years since he turned himself in—shouldering the sins of the Lord of Crime.

He had withered in that time, his frame leaner, his mind strained by solitude and dust. Yet none of it mattered now. Not with the wind on his face, not with the sky stretching open above him. Not with William alive—alive—and at his side once more.

The final act of their grand design had played out three years ago, its curtain falling in fire and flood. The Lord of Crime had vanished, swallowed by the Thames. London had howled in the aftermath—fury, confusion, unity, then, finally, peace. Albert had taken full responsibility, offering himself up to the law so the world might believe the shadows were gone.

William—his brilliant, reckless brother—had disappeared with Sherlock Holmes into the depths of the river, leaving behind a silence heavy as stone. But now… now they were here. William. Louis. The gang. Even the Holmes brothers.

Albert was home.

“For me? Thank you.”

Albert blinked, startled from his reverie as a warm paper parcel was pressed into his hands. He looked down to find a simple croissant inside, its aroma rich and buttery. The gesture was small—ordinary, even. But after three years of routine and regret, it felt like a luxury he scarcely deserved.

He smiled faintly, eyes glimmering as he accepted the gift. A walk through the city with his precious friend, a breath of clean air, a bite of fresh pastry—trivial moments for most. For him, each was a fragment of a life once thought lost, now slowly restored.