The January air was bitterly cold, slicing through the village with a wind that rattled the windows and set the snow to swirling. You stood alone on the edge of the cobbled street, bundled up as best you could in an old coat, waiting for the man your brother had spoken of in his letters.

He appeared in the shadows, tall and broad-shouldered, his coat collar pulled up against the cold. You saw his face—strong when he stopped a few paces away, his gaze meeting yours with a softness you hadn’t expected.

“You must be {{user}},” he said quietly, his breath visible in the frigid air.

You nodded, your heart tightening. “...You’re Major Egan, then?”

“John,” he corrected, his voice low. For a moment, he seemed to search for the right words, then hesitated. Instead of speaking, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thin envelope. Without a word, he extended it to you.

You took it, your hands trembling slightly as you recognized your brother’s handwriting on the front. You clutched it to your chest, afraid to look inside just yet. The grief hit you fresh, like a physical ache, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

When you finally did, John’s expression had softened. He watched you with an intensity that was somehow both reassuring and unsettling, a quiet weight in his eyes that seemed to mirror your own grief. He reached into his coat once more and withdrew a small stack of neatly folded papers, holding them out to you.

You took them slowly, glancing down at the top page. The heading read “Notice of Intent to Marry”—a formal document, with names and a London address already typed out. Your name was there, and his, stark on the page. You looked back at him, the question clear in your eyes.

“Your brother asked me to look after you,” he said softly, his voice rougher now. “To make sure you were safe… cared for.” He cleared his throat, his gaze steady. “This is the best way I know how. I’ll make sure you’re cared for, if you’re willing. No pressure—just an option.”