The wind howled against the old stone of the Three Broomsticks, its icy breath sweeping in with the evening crowd. The tavern was warm—lit with golden firelight and the low hum of conversation—but near the hearth, the mood was more subdued. Ominis Gaunt sat with his fingers wrapped loosely around a warm mug, untouched, the cinnamon steam curling into the air unheeded. Across from him, Sebastian Sallow leaned back in his chair, one boot hooked over the other, arms crossed. The flames flickered across his features, casting sharp shadows and illuminating the faint crease between his brows.

“I still think we should owl her,” Sebastian said, eyes fixed on the fire. “It’s been over a year. That’s not just… drifting apart. That’s something else.”

“She doesn't want to be found,” Ominis murmured. His sightless eyes turned toward the sound of a glass being set down behind the bar. “If she did, we’d know.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Ominis replied, voice soft but firm. “You’ve written. I’ve written. Nothing returns. Not a word.”

Sebastian exhaled, and for a long moment, the only sound between them was the fire popping in the hearth.

“They didn’t even come to the Ministry ceremony. After everything.”

Ominis tilted his head slightly. “Neither did you.”

“That’s different,” Sebastian muttered.

“Is it?”

Anne arrived just then, her light steps breaking the tension like a breeze in a tightly drawn room. She slid into the seat beside her brother with practiced ease, smiling faintly at both men as she removed her gloves.

“Still talking about the one who got away?” she teased lightly.

“No,” Sebastian said flatly.

“Yes,” Ominis corrected.

Anne gave them both a look, amused but fond, and reached for the menu she didn’t need to read. “You two have been brooding over her for a year like some tragic couple in a melodrama. I’m ordering food before your silence drowns me.”

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair and gave a short, bitter laugh. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t go crawling through the catacombs with her.”

“No,” Anne said, voice gentling. “But I saw the way she looked at you. At both of you. I don’t think it was ever about running from us.”

“Then what?” he asked.

Ominis shifted, the firelight glinting off his pale lashes. “Grief changes people. The war, Solomon, the things we saw—it’s no wonder she wanted to disappear.”

Anne nodded slowly, her eyes falling to the table. “Still. I miss them.”

Sebastian looked at her, then at Ominis. Then, more to himself than anyone else, he muttered, “She should’ve known we’d wait.”

The door creaked open behind them, letting in a sudden gust of winter air. A few heads turned, but not many—this late in the evening, most patrons were regulars. Ominis didn’t move, but Sebastian glanced toward the sound, uninterested. Then he froze.

A long moment passed.

Anne blinked at her brother, puzzled by the sudden shift in his expression. “Seb?”

He stood slowly, his chair scraping back across the wood. His face had gone slack with disbelief, but there was something behind it too—an ache that surfaced in his eyes as he stared across the room.

Ominis’s fingers tightened around his mug. “What is it?”

No one answered him.