Barty hadn’t planned on ending up here, not on Christmas Eve, not with snow soaking through his coat, and definitely not throwing rocks at her window like some desperate idiot. But here he was. He kept his eyes on the glass until the curtain twitched and a confused face peered out. A few seconds later, the window creaked open. After some hushed back-and-forth, she stepped aside, and he pulled himself through without hesitation. The warmth inside hit him like a wall, but it did nothing for the sting on his lip or the ache in his jaw.

He brushed snow from his hair with one hand, the other tucked in his coat pocket. She noticed the bruises, of course, but before she could say anything, he spoke voice low, almost embarrassed. “Sorry to bother you,” he muttered, glancing around the room like he didn’t quite belong in it. “But… I need a favor." Her expression shifted to caution. “Could I stay here tonight?” he asked, the words edged with something bitter. “My father kicked me out.” He didn’t elaborate, didn’t need to. The silence that followed said enough.