The greenhouse was quiet save for the rustling of dittany leaves and the faint hum of magical wards gently pulsing over the door. You sat on the edge of a stone planter, sleeves rolled to the elbows, knees tucked up — watching Anne charm the soil with her wand while Sebastian tried (and failed) to keep a vine from wrapping around his arm.

Ominis stood nearby, hand resting lightly on the weathered bench, facing toward you.

Not Anne. Not Sebastian. You.

His wand was idle in one hand, fingers tracing absentmindedly along the wood. He didn’t speak much, not while the two bickered back and forth, but you saw the way his head tilted ever so slightly toward the sound of your voice when you finally did chime in. That soft, dreamlike attentiveness only Ominis possessed — like listening to you anchored him.

Sebastian noticed first, of course. “Oi,” he drawled, wand flicking the vine off with unnecessary flourish. “He’s doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Anne chimed, brow lifted.

“Staring. Dream-staring.” Sebastian shot Ominis a smug look. “You picture her again? What’s it this time — tragic heroine in a window, or kneeling beside a dragon’s egg?”

Ominis didn’t flinch. “Fascinating how you speak with so much confidence about things you can’t possibly understand.”

Anne cackled. “He’s deflecting. That means yes.”

You flushed, though your voice stayed even. “Don’t tease him.”

“No, go on,” Ominis said dryly, wand tapping once against his palm. “This is terribly illuminating. Sebastian, please tell me how my enchanted perception of your sister’s face compares to her actual face. I’m sure you’re very qualified.”

They howled.

You only smiled, quiet and soft. He couldn’t see the colour in your cheeks, but in that strange, faint way — like a memory just before waking — he could feel it. Her outline was stronger today. Still dim. Still dream-like. But clearer.

She always was, when she laughed.