Men, four of them, their dark eyes lurk beneath the grey brims of their turned down hats and their coats are buttoned to their chins, their auras menacing. And they’re following you.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you duck and weave through the tight streets of the Bhutanese village, trying to shake Grindelwald’s men off your tail but you’re beginning to panic. Your grasp tightens on the case in your hand, the case that might hold the Qilin, you can’t let them have it, you can’t-

You’re pulled from your building anxiety by a strong hand grasping your arm and yanking you behind a hung up blanket into a doorway hidden from view. You begin to thrash and the person yelps- a yelp you know.

“It’s me,” Credence hushes you gently, his fingers clutching your arms to steady you. "It's me. It's okay, you're safe." His doe eyes soften when he looks at you up close for the first time in five years. Five years since Paris. You can see he's exhausted, that his hair has grown out and he looks like he could cry just from being able to touch you again, but he's still Credence. Still your Credence.