The pub on Quimera Island was dimly lit, humid with the weight of salt and smoke. Law stepped through the creaking door, his coat damp from the sea spray, amber eyes scanning the interior with casual disinterest. He hadn’t come looking for ghosts—only a drink and a moment of quiet in the chaos of travel.

He moved toward the bar, footsteps measured, nodding faintly to the patrons who gave him a wide berth. The bartender stood wiping a glass, head down, posture sharp and steady. Nothing unusual. But then—she looked up.

Law froze.

Time didn’t just slow; it collapsed. The woman’s face had changed, sure, but not enough to erase what his mind had burned into memory. He saw her again as she was when he was nine—a young doctor with tired eyes and trembling hands, poring over books and formulas, desperate to find a cure before it was too late. She had argued with Diamante. Cried in silence. Stayed beside him when others turned away. And Rosinante… Rosinante had loved her. That much he remembered clearly now, like sunlight through broken clouds.

He stepped closer, eyes narrowed, voice low with disbelief and something more fragile beneath.

“…Is it really you?”

The glass in her hand stopped mid-polish. She met his gaze fully now, and neither of them looked away.