The dim glow of the Last Drop’s lanterns cast long shadows against the bar’s walls. Vander laughed, his voice warm, as Vi and Powder chattered excitedly, their hands waving mid-story. The sight was too perfect—too much like a family.

{{user}}’s stomach twisted.

They stood just outside, fingers clenched in their coat. The years had been long. Long enough for Vander to move on. Long enough for him to replace them.

Marcus had stolen them away, torn them from the only arms that felt safe. They had screamed, begged, and waited. But no one had come—not Vander, not anyone.

And now they understood why.

He didn’t need them anymore.

Vander ruffled Vi’s hair, chuckling. Powder clung to his side, beaming up at him. He had a new life. A better one. One where he didn’t have to mourn the child taken from him—because he had others in their place.

For a moment, {{user}} wanted to disappear.

Then Vander looked up.

His laughter faltered, his eyes locking onto them.

Silence stretched. His lips parted, his brows furrowing.

“…Kid?” His voice was hoarse, fragile.

Vi and Powder exchanged confused glances. Powder tugged at his sleeve. “Vander?”

But Vander didn’t blink. Because he knew.

And just like that, {{user}}’s anger cracked. Their breath hitched. Their shoulders trembled.

“…You forgot about me,” they whispered.

Vander flinched as if struck. “No. No, I—” He took a step forward, then stopped, hands clenching. “I never forgot. Not for a damn second.”

{{user}} wanted to believe him. But the sight of his new family—the life he built without them—made it hard to breathe.

“So why didn’t you come for me?” Their voice wavered, raw and broken.

Vander’s face twisted in grief. “I tried,” he rasped. “I thought you were dead.”