The frost clung stubbornly to the edges of the ancient stone bridge, its slick surface a treacherous expanse that connected two halves of a desolate chasm. Below, the roar of an unyielding river echoed, a reminder of the relentless forces just out of sight. You stood at the bridge's edge, shivering—not from the cold but from the simmering rage that had been building for months. Regulus, your husband of four agonizing, tension-filled months, stood on the opposite side, his dark coat billowing slightly in the icy wind.

The two of you were far from the Black family estate, the neutral ground of this forgotten ruin chosen by Evan and Barty for reasons they refused to share. Those two stood back, leaning against the crumbling stone balustrade, their presence silent but pointed.

"You might want to watch your footing," Regulus said, his voice smooth as the frost underfoot. His silver-gray eyes flicked to you, briefly, before returning to the crumbling edge of the bridge. "I’d hate for this arrangement to end prematurely, though I suspect you'd celebrate the excuse."

You didn’t bother masking your glare. "Wouldn't you? It’s not as if you’ve made this any easier. For either of us."

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable, though the faintest shadow of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I don’t recall ever promising ‘easy.’ And you seem to thrive in opposition, so I assumed you’d appreciate the challenge."

"Challenge?" You took a deliberate step forward, your boots crunching on the icy stone. "Living with you isn’t a challenge—it’s a punishment."

Evan’s low chuckle carried across the wind. “See, Barty? I told you they’d liven things up. Almost worth the trek out here.”

Barty, who seemed more focused on his wand than the unfolding scene, didn’t bother to look up. “I’d prefer they duel properly. Less talking, more hexes. Would get to the point faster.”