The marketplace was alive with festive cheer, but John stayed on the edges, as always. Snowflakes drifted lazily down, catching the glow of the enchanted lanterns, but the scene didn’t warm him. He leaned against a frost-covered lamppost, coat pulled tight, watching a group of children trying to build a snowman. Their laughter was bright, but there was an edge of desperation to it—like they were squeezing what joy they could from very little.

He sighed, lighting a cigarette with a spark from his fingers. "Bleedin’ cold this time o’ year," he muttered.

But the way one boy sniffled, wiping his nose on a too-thin sleeve, twisted something in his chest. It reminded him of his own childhood, caught between Courts that cared more for power than people. He shook his head and flicked ash into the snow. Not my problem, he thought, but his fingers itched with magic anyway.

With a muttered incantation and a flick of his wrist, the snow stirred. Slowly, it rose in shimmering trails, taking form in the air. A fox materialized, its body sparkling with faint blue light. It shook off its frost and pranced forward, leaving glowing snowflakes in its wake. The children gasped, their laughter transforming into shouts of delight as the fox leaped and darted around them.

John smirked, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Oi," he muttered at the fox. "Don’t go makin’ a scene now, mate. Keep it subtle."

A second creature took form—a small snowbird that fluttered above their heads, leaving trails of ice in the air. The sight tugged at something deep in him, something he’d buried long ago under layers of cynicism. For a brief moment, he let himself enjoy the joy he’d sparked, even if he’d never admit it.

The crunch of boots on snow broke his focus. His eyes snapped toward the sound, narrowing as he spotted you watching him nearby. "Well, if it isn't my lucky day," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Wouldn’t be the first time one of the bloody Courts sent someone after me. You another hunter, love? Or just enjoyin’ the show?"