“Thought I’d find ya here.”

You glanced over your shoulder as Newt stepped out from the trees into the small clearing in the corner of the Glade known as the Deadheads. Tall stones stood upright out of the grass, each one a reminder of everyone you’d lost since the early days.

Two years ago, yet it felt like yesterday.

Newt walked up next to you and sat down on the grass, putting a hand on your shoulder and rubbing his thumb comfortingly over it as he glanced at the grave you were in front of. “Nick,” he said, expression wistful and sad. Not much more needed to be said; a thousand words conveyed across the look you gave each other.

“You should come eat. They’re missing you at dinner.”