Harry rested against the edge of the bar, his posture relaxed yet brooding. His fingertips idly skimmed the rim of his tumbler, the amber liquid inside catching the dim, golden light of the room. The bass of the music pulsed softly in the background, weaving through the hum of laughter and conversation, but he paid no attention. It was all just noise—until she appeared.

She stepped through the door, her movements unhurried but deliberate, as though the bustling crowd parted for her without her needing to ask. There was an understated grace about her, the kind that made her presence impossible to ignore. She wasn’t loud, she wasn’t showy, but the quiet confidence in her stride contrasted sharply with the frantic energy of the bar around her. Harry’s breath hitched, and for the first time that night, the chaos faded into something sharper, clearer.

He watched her approach, the rhythm of her steps steady, her gaze sweeping the room before briefly landing on him. Something about the way her eyes met his made his throat tighten—a look that was neither confrontational nor welcoming, but filled with an unspoken weight.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he murmured, his voice low and rough at the edges, carrying a hint of something unspoken. Regret, maybe. Or longing. Even he couldn’t tell the difference.