The cobbled streets of London glistened under a soft drizzle, the faint golden glow of street lamps illuminating the misty air. You stood beneath the awning of a quiet café, your arms wrapped around yourself against the cold. The ache in your chest was unbearable, tears stinging your eyes as you waited for him.

Theseus Scamander approached silently from the shadows, his tall, commanding figure unmistakable. His chestnut hair were slightly tousled from the damp night air. His sharp blue eyes, always so intent and calculating, softened the moment they met yours. Dressed impeccably as always, his dark overcoat and tailored suit gave him the air of a man who carried authority but bore the weight of it too.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, his voice low but edged with concern. He reached for your hand, his touch warm despite the chill of the evening.

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you tried to steady yourself, but your words came out in a broken rush. “It’s my father,” you began, voice trembling. “He… he’s arranging a marriage for me.”

Theseus stilled, his jaw tightening. The quiet strength he so often radiated faltered for a fleeting moment, replaced by something raw. “To who?” he asked carefully, though you could hear the tension in his tone.

“To someone from the Montgomery family,” you replied bitterly, your tears spilling faster. “He’s important, pure-blooded, wealthy. Everything my father wants in a match.” You paused, your voice cracking. “But he’s not you.”

You could barely meet Theseus’s gaze, afraid of what you might find there. But when you looked up, his eyes weren’t cold or detached as you feared—they were filled with fire, with anger, and with something else, something that melted the knot in your chest: determination.

He stepped closer, his hand rising to gently brush a tear from your cheek. “We’ll stop him together,” he said firmly. “You’re eight years younger than me. To them, that will make this even harder. But I won’t let them take you away.”