A rather quiet evening in the ministry. With the cold of dead winter making it's way through the old stone walls, many have closed themselves away to stay warm, most with someone to keep warm. Fire ghouls got much notice.

Dew sits in his room, sprawled across his bed with a mug in his hand. Hot cocoa. No marshmallows or whipped cream like the others had gotten (he said it was too childish), just the cocoa. He's wrapped up in a single blanket and lazily scrolling through his phone.