Chapter 14- Can Run But Can't Hide

3 months ago, *That night*:

As soon as he slammed the door shut, Severus did what he did best—he walked.

He walked the good distance from their house to the park a couple of blocks away and then proceeded along streets where only a few souls resided, the houses abandoned and derelict, devoid of any sense of belonging.

The sight of this desolate neighbourhood evoked strong memories of his childhood home in Spinner's End, situated across the river from where his dear friend Lily once lived. While her side was vibrant and cheerful, Severus's part was a stark contrast, filled with lifeless and neglected houses, including his own. The disparity between the residents on each side was striking.

As a kid he knew that most of the men in his old neighbourhood were just like his father—impoverished and unemployed, seeking refuge in bars every night to find meaning in their otherwise worthless lives, only to drink more than they could pay for then go home to remind their families in whatever cruel way that they still existed.

For this reason, he had deliberately chosen to raise his children far away from such surroundings, hoping to shield them from a fate like his own and to avoid constant reminders of his former neighbourhood.

However, on this particular night, it seemed rather fitting to traverse through this area, as his current mood mirrored the feelings of his youth—anger.

He was angry.

Oh, he was so bloody angry.

And the more he walked the more he found that it was not helping.

No matter how many steps he took, he couldn't escape it—his rage wasn't dissipating.

He just couldn't do it.

He couldn't bear to return home.

He couldn't go back to face her.

It would remind him of what happened...of what she said.

And how true it was.

He knew it was true and yet he felt stabbed that she would confirm it.

His desire to release this pent-up fury kept intensifying. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout, perhaps to run instead of walking, to unleash his anger on anyone—a neighbour, a drunkard passing by, or even himself.

Anyone.

Yet, alongside this wrath, a profound guilt gnawed at him incessantly. It surged with each beat of his heart, fueled partly by Hermione's cutting words that exposed his denials.

However, there was another layer of this guilt, originating from a completely other unsettling source.

It was what he heard right when she said these words; something within him had started shaking, wanting her to stop talking, wanting her to disappear.

And for a split second, he heard it.

He heard it telling him to do it.

To make her shut up, to make her disappear.

It dared him to do it, mocked him for being weak, for letting her words affect him so.

And there was no mistake who that voice belonged to.

The dark fucking lord.

Severus would have laughed hysterically had he not been deeply troubled by it.

How bloody fitting.

Of course, The dark lord would make himself known within Severus, because he was still a bloody dark person.

Once a death eater, always a death eater.

Once willing to play with dark magic, always suffering from its after-effects.

The dark lord was still here, and he always will be, his presence loud and clear no matter how much he tried to deny it, no matter how many years have passed since they rid of the actual person, his influence, along with his godawful mark that defiled his left arm, will forever stay with Severus.

But he was terrified of what that meant, of what it could imply.

He'd been having dark thoughts within his mind for a while now, voices telling him what a worthless person he is, but Severus was used to that, he was used to self-hatred and self-doubt and had lived with it as a second nature before. He figured it was just an aftereffect of the loss they recently experienced. Nothing unusual.

But vile thoughts like these? raging, angry, violent, evil thoughts. Severus couldn't dismiss that.

It needed no further confirmation; something was wrong with him.

He couldn't bear to think of what would have happened had he not controlled himself, had he been so unaware of his thoughts to do the first thing that came to mind.

If he hurt his family, he couldn't live with himself.

He wouldn't live with himself.

That's why he couldn't risk going home while in this state, he didn't know what that sick mind of his would think of.

Hermione had really hurt him with her words, he didn't want to hurt her with his actions.

So, he kept walking, battling with his mind until he reached a wall, signifying the end of this sorry neighbourhood.

He could go back and take another route, one that would lead him to yet another neighbourhood, perhaps a better one.

But he couldn't dismiss his need now, he knew more walking wouldn't be any help to his nerves and tormented thoughts.

He needed a drink.

Today

"And you don't remember anything before that?" His mother finally asked, breaking the heavy silence that had settled in the room.

She had remained quiet through his faltering, disjointed explanation of the events leading up to the memory she had witnessed.

He felt utterly spent.

Mentally and emotionally drained.

The weight of his fragmented memories and the shame of his actions weighed heavily upon him.

"Nothing besides the bar," he finally muttered, his voice low, nearly a whisper. He couldn't meet her eyes. "After that everything is a blur, I tried revisiting my memory, but it was the same"

"Alcohol does seem to do that to your brain," she replied, her tone cool but not cruel. "It ruins your memories."

'Alcohol could be your undoing, Severus'.

Those words echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of what Eilleen had warned him about all those years ago, pleading with him not to follow in his father's footsteps.

Back then, he dismissed her concerns, believing he was above succumbing to addiction or bad influences.

He never listened.

Just as he never listened to Lily when she incessantly voiced her concerns about his growing obsession with dark magic. Back then, he had convinced himself he was above it all—immune to the pitfalls that ensnared weaker men.

Yet now, both dark magic and alcohol had left their dark marks on his life and his body, forging an unbreakable connection with the two paths he had foolishly walked.

Once doomed, always doomed.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he shifted his gaze to the window, its dark canvas mirroring his emotions.

The night had draped everything in obscurity, and he wished the darkness could simply swallow him whole, sparing him from the burden of this.

Of all of this.

He had yet to meet his mother's eyes...He could imagine her disappointment well enough... He didn't need to see it.

"How did Hermione find out?" he heard her ask after a while, her voice breaking the otherwise undisturbed silence.

The question caught him off guard, though it shouldn't have. He should have expected it. "I told her," he said, his tone clipped, his gaze never leaving the void outside.

"You did?" There was a note of surprise in her voice, but not disbelief. "I didn't think…"

"Of course," he interrupted, frowning slightly. Why was she surprised? "Hermione knows everything. I owe her that much, at least."

His mother was silent for a moment, long enough to make his stomach churn. Then, with unsettling calm, she said, "So this is the reason behind your divorce."

Severus tried to hide his wince at her statement, but he knew she saw it when he felt her shift behind him. He averted his gaze and looked down.

What was he supposed to say to that? Was there anything he could say?

Words failed him, and he hated how exposed he felt. He could barely believe he had let this much slip, let alone everything else she didn't yet know.

She moved closer, her presence now beside him as they both stood in front of the window. He could feel her eyes on him.

"There's more isn't there?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

His head snapped toward her, his dark eyes locking with hers for a fleeting moment.

He wondered if she could see straight through him... If she simply had the ability to peel back the layers of his defences and lay him bare, Legilimency be damned.

And that thought was unnerving.

But what he saw in her eyes wasn't what he expected. It wasn't anger. It wasn't disappointment. It wasn't even pity.

It was something he hadn't seen in years. Something that made his chest tighten painfully. Something that made him regret every omission, every lie, every failure to confide in her.

It was understanding.

"Severus," she prompted gently, placing her hand on his shoulder.

The touch burned like fire. He recoiled instantly, stepping away from her, his defences snapping back into place like iron gates slamming shut. He turned away, his voice bitter as the truth spilt from his lips before he could stop it.

"She's with child," he finally said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

The room seemed to freeze. Eileen's sharp intake of breath was deafening in the silence that followed.

Severus closed his eyes, his jaw clenching tightly.

There...the truth was out; she wanted to know and now she can choke on it.

Why did she have to ask? why!?

Why did she make him acknowledge it again? wasn't once enough?

His mother's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, but he barely registered the words.

The walls were closing in on him, the air growing too thick to breathe.

He couldn't stay here. He couldn't do this.

He needed to get out. Now.

"... but getting pregnant from that one encounter, that's too convenient"

He looked at her then, disturbed she had gotten over her shock that quick, while he was internally dying.

Then he remembered she still had control over her Occlumency shields, unlike him.

"I know..." he replied stiffly, the words hollow, devoid of strength.

It was all he could manage to say because he did know.

He knew too well. The doubts gnawed at him constantly, a parasite he couldn't rid himself of.

But those doubts didn't matter—not yet. Not until there was proof.

Proof that wouldn't come until the child was born.

"Do you believe her?" his mother asked after a moment, her eyes narrowing in scrutiny.

He shook his head faintly, unsure of himself. "I… don't know," he admitted, reluctant to give even that much.

Her raised eyebrow demanded elaboration, and he gave it, albeit reluctantly. "She didn't want anything from me," he began, his voice tight. "Said she understood my circumstances—that I'm married—and that she'd keep the whole thing a secret. Even claimed she was considering—" He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat."...Getting rid of it."

Eileen's mask of composure cracked for the briefest moment, shock flickering across her face.

"That is, until..." Severus continued, his tone darkening, "I received a letter from her bloody sister."

"Her sister?" His mother echoed.

"A vile woman," he spat, his lip curling in distaste. "She shamed me for my 'callous treatment' of her sister and then had the audacity to threaten me—to make the entire situation public if I didn't send money. Money, of course, to care for both the child and its mother. Apparently, they couldn't bring themselves to 'kill an innocent child' for my sake."

Eileen's expression hardened. "And you sent her the money?"

"Of course, I did!" he snapped, his voice rising. "Do you think I give half a shit about the money?"

"No," she replied sharply, "but you care about being played for a fool. You care about it ruining your marriage!"

Severus's lips curled into a humorless sneer. "Yes, Mother, congratulations on your stunning insight. But the last thing I want is for this sordid mess to become public. I'll pay for her silence regardless—whether the child is mine or not."

"You don't think it's yours?" she pressed.

He hesitated. "As you said, it's too convenient. But I won't know for certain until the child is born."

"But what if it's yours?"

"Then it won't matter until it's born," he replied curtly, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand. He refused to entertain the possibility further. Not now.

Eileen's eyes sharpened as she straightened her posture, her presence demanding. "But you need to prepare for this possibility, Severus. You need to make plans—"

"—I don't want to think about this right now," he interrupted, his tone venomous, almost a hiss. His words cut the air between them like a blade.

His mother's gaze remained steady, unflinching. He hated how calm she looked, how her silence seemed to speak volumes.

No doubt she was silently dissecting him, judging him, deeming him pathetic.

He was done with this.

Done with her questions, her stares, her quiet disapproval. He had told her what she wanted to know, and now he wanted nothing more than to leave.

Where had he left his cloak?

Without another word, he turned and strode to the kitchen, his movements abrupt and purposeful. Relief was short-lived, however, as he realized she was following him.

"What does Hermione think of all this?" she asked, her voice trailing after him like a persistent shadow.

Severus didn't falter in his stride, though he felt his irritation mounting with every step. "She only knows the woman is pregnant," he answered flatly. "I haven't shared anything beyond that. It wouldn't matter."

There, he spotted his cloak on the kitchen chair.

"No? But don't you think she deserves to know about your doubts?" she continued relentlessly.

Severus halted abruptly, his patience fraying. He turned to face her, his black eyes narrowing dangerously. "No. Hermione has been troubled enough. She won't forgive me either way nor do I expect her to."

"So you're just giving up?—"

"—I fucked up, Mother!" he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.

How could she ask him that? it's not about him giving up, the battle is already lost, it's unfixable!

His composure cracked further, his emotions spilling out despite his best efforts to contain them. "I've been fucking up ever since we lost our child and there's no way to fix it, the sooner I accept that the better."

"But if there's no child in the picture, you could fix things" she began carefully. "Had you—"

"—Had I not left my wife in tears and gone to bed with another woman? one who's allegedly carrying my child, after my wife and I lost ours" His voice cracked slightly, but he didn't care "No Mother, I don't think we can."

The words hung heavily in the air, a brutal admission that left no room for argument. He grabbed his cloak and threw it over his shoulders, his movements quick and forceful.

His mother's argument was paining him.

She doesn't understand... she probably couldn't.

He knew that had Tobias done the same thing, and he probably had, she would have looked past it.

He couldn't begin to fathom the sort of marriage that his parents had, for all he knew it should have ended before he was even born, even if she insisted that they were happy then.

But what he and Hermione had...it was different.

He had broken her trust, and he knew for a fact that they couldn't come back from this... he couldn't come back from this.

Loyalty... it was all Severus knew; it was all he had to offer. And he had taken it and shredded it to pieces, right then when it mattered the most.

Eileen's gaze softened slightly as he turned toward the fireplace. "Severus…"

"It's getting late," he said abruptly, cutting her off. "I have to go." He reached for the Floo powder, his jaw tight.

She didn't argue. Perhaps she finally understood there was no point. She merely nodded.

He paused briefly, glancing back at her. "Thank you for your help today," he said, his tone formal, detached. "I'll continue my research. I'm sure I'll make more progress now that I know what to look for."

Again, she nodded silently.

"Arya's school starts at eight, please make sure she's there on time"

"I will," she replied.

"I'll be back in the afternoon to collect her. Thank you again."

"Take care, Severus."

He paused, his gaze lingering on her for a brief moment, before stepping into the fireplace.

"Why are you still staring at that empty book?" Finn exclaimed, slamming the dormitory door shut with such force that Theo jumped in surprise.

Finn, as always, seemed utterly incapable of entering a room like a normal person, despite their repeated pleas for him to stop making so much noise.

Theo sighed, shutting the book and glancing at his watch.

He'd been poring over it for hours, ever since classes ended today.

Once he figured out how to reveal its contents, it was as though he'd fallen into some sort of trance. The book was unlike anything he'd ever read before, and Theo couldn't put it down.

It was obvious this particular book truly belonged in the Restricted Section. Theo knew that well enough. The content alone—never mind the spells it contained—was not meant to be read by an eleven-year-old.

Though the war book had been unsettling, filled with many harsh and heavy details, this one was... different. If he were caught reading it, he was sure the trouble he'd face would be exponentially worse.

The tome delved deeply into the power of blood relations, the intricacies of blood magic, and—of course—the stupid obsession with blood purity. Theo brushed aside the last part, attributing it to the book being written in an era when such ideas were held in high regard. He didn't care about that.

What truly fascinated him were the spells.

Some were undeniably dangerous, but others seemed almost manageable. They all shared one thing in common: a blood sacrifice. It made sense, really, considering the name 'blood magic'.

It reminded Theo of certain potions his father had brewed in front of him before—those that required a few drops of blood to enhance their effects. His father often explained how the blood of the user strengthened the potion's potency, tailoring it specifically to the individual.

Occasionally, his father even used Theo's blood, though only in small amounts. A quick pinprick, and the wound was healed instantly. Theo assumed these spells would be similar.

As he thought this over, an idea began to form at the back of his mind, slowly taking shape

He'd already written down several spells he wanted to try when the opportunity presented itself. But there was one... one spell he knew exactly who he wanted to use it on the moment he first read it.

All he needed was the blood.

He absentmindedly brushed his fingers over the scar on his chin, a reminder of the punch he'd received a few days ago, of the humiliation he felt. His friends believed his excuse—that he'd fallen down the stairs—but Theo hadn't forgotten.

He never would.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Finn's voice cut through his thoughts, dragging him back to the present.

"It's not empty anymore," Theo replied to his first question distractedly.

"What d'you mean?" Finn asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I figured out how to open it," Theo said, his tone almost casual.

Finn's scowl deepened as he snatched the book off Theo's desk and flipped through its pages. "It's still blank to me. How'd you open it?"

"Blood," Theo said simply.

"What?"

"The scratches I had yesterday—" He gestured vaguely to his hand. "They helped me unlock it."

Finn gave him a sceptical look, as though debating whether to believe him. "Well, was it worth it? What's it even about?"

"Just more stuff about the war," Theo lied smoothly, holding out his hand to take the book back. "Far more gruesome details, though."

Finn grimaced and handed it over. "So, not worth it, then."

Theo shrugged, tucking the book back into its hiding place. "Depends on your perspective." He turned and headed for the bathroom without another word.

"He's completely mental," Finn muttered, shaking his head as the bathroom door clicked shut. He barely had time to sigh before the dormitory door creaked open again, this time revealing Daniel.

"Who's mental?" He asked, stepping inside and catching Finn's grumble.

"Theo," Finn said, turning toward him. "He used his blood to read that stupid book."

Daniel paused mid-step. "What book?"

"The one he nicked from the restricted section," Finn replied. "We thought it was empty, but now he's saying it's full of stuff about the war."

Dan's expression shifted into one of alarm, his brows furrowing deeply.

"What?" Finn frowned. "What's that look for?"

"You can't seriously believe him," Daniel said slowly as if explaining something to a particularly dense child.

"Why not?"

"If he used blood to open the book," Daniel said, lowering his voice, "it's got to be about blood magic. That's basic stuff."

Finn stared at him blankly. "Well... why would he lie, then?"

Dan hesitated, thinking it over before shrugging. He glanced at Finn, his worry evident. "I don't know," he said finally.

"But it can't be anything good."

Hermione let out a heavy sigh as she gently closed the door to Arya's bedroom

Her nightly ritual of checking on the little girl had become second nature, but tonight, it only served as a reminder that Arya wasn't here.

The house felt desolate, more so than during those long summer weekends when Arya and Theo used to stay with Severus. At least back then, Hermione had learned to make use of the time—reluctantly at first. It had taken some adjustment, but the brief reprieves gave her a chance for much-needed self-reflection, to reconnect with parts of herself she'd let fall by the wayside.

She'd never admit it out loud, but having the children away for short periods during those early days of separation had, in some strange way, helped her heal. She didn't have to keep up the strong front for anyone. She could cry, crumble, and let herself feel the weight of it all—before somehow mustering the strength to carry on again.

Now, however, as she stepped into the hollow quiet of the house, the silence seemed even more oppressive. It seeped into her bones.

She'd even forgotten to cook dinner, distracted by the stillness that had settled over everything. Eventually, the relentless growling of her stomach forced her to order takeout—a begrudging admission of just how far removed she felt from her usual routine. It was as if she'd grown so used to Arya's constant presence—the little voice, the laughter, the chatter—that her absence left an ache Hermione wasn't sure how to fill.

Perhaps Severus felt the same way; grappling with the stark emptiness that now defined his days.

Though he'd spent most of his life alone, Hermione knew he'd grown used to the life they had built together, accustomed to the lively presence of their children. He didn't have to say anything—she could see it in the little things.

The way he paid extra attention to the children when he returned from his travels, the carefully chosen gifts he brought home, a clear sign they were on his mind even when he was far away. The way he never failed to ask when she'd be home when she was not there as if counting down the hours until her return. The way he continuously checked on them whenever he had to spend even a few nights at Hogwarts.

And, of course, the way he always asked her to accompany him on his numerous potions-related travels, only going alone when it was absolutely clear she couldn't join him.

Adjusting to being alone again must have been difficult for him—suddenly living in an empty house, seeing the children only on weekends. Perhaps it was easier for him now at Hogwarts, with his teaching duties and the endless demands of so many students to keep him occupied.

But she knew he missed them. She'd seen it in the letters he wrote to Arya.

She hoped the little girl was having a good time today. The way she'd lit up with excitement when her father agreed to visit her school made Hermione certain she would.

Still, Hermione couldn't shake the pang of guilt she felt every time Arya confessed that she missed her father.

Why should she feel guilty? He's the one who caused all this.

But she did.

And it wasn't only guilt for her children. It was guilt for Severus too.

She hated herself for it sometimes, but she couldn't help wondering how he was feeling.

He never showed it, of course, but she knew him well enough to see through the act. She wasn't sure if she appreciated his attempts to shield her from his pain or resented him for it.

Just as he'd hidden his illness from her at the hospital.

Hermione wanted to believe him when he said it was nothing more than a cold. She knew Severus's reactions to illness could be severe. But the way he'd dismissed her concerns and then immediately taken Theo and fled the scene—it left her uneasy. Deep down, she knew there was more to it.

She pushed open the door to their bedroom, simultaneously flicking her wand to dim the lights. Her gaze instinctively shifted to Severus's side of the bed, drawn there as if by muscle memory—a habit reignited by her thoughts of him.

For weeks after he left, she hadn't dared to look at that side. And even when she finally worked up the nerve, her eyes would dart away almost instantly, as though catching sight of it might undo her.

She had avoided his nightstand entirely, refusing even to dust it. The drawer he'd left ajar in his haste to pack remained exactly as it was, half-open.

She didn't know what gave her the courage this time, but she found herself approaching it.

Perhaps it wasn't courage at all but an aching curiosity. What had he taken with him in his rush to leave? And, more importantly, what had he left behind?

The absence of the family photo was the first thing she'd noticed when her gaze had accidentally wandered to his side weeks ago. That and his reading glasses—gone as well. Both were expected, of course.

But the two books he'd been obsessively reading before bed remained exactly where he'd left them.

She hesitated, her fingers brushing one of the covers. Why hadn't he taken them?

And then she remembered: she was the one who brought those particular books into their home.

It had been their tradition to exchange recommendations, their shared love of reading being one of the things that had truly bound them at the start. Somewhere along the way, they had become so intertwined in each other's preferences that neither could remember who had picked what.

How had he remembered, in his hurry, that they were hers?

But then again, many of his belongings were still here. His books, his personal effects—she'd found herself owling him a few favourites after he left, but she'd never dared approach his nightstand to collect the two sitting there now. She had avoided it for so long.

She let out a soft, self-deprecating sigh and finally pulled open the half-opened drawer.

It was nearly empty, save for a few half-used potion bottles. She frowned. They were almost certainly useless by now; potions rarely retained their potency after sitting untouched for so long. Severus would have brewed fresh ones ages ago. She made a mental note to discard them later.

Moving to the bottom drawer, she found their old Muggle camera and several photo albums tucked neatly inside.

The sight of them made her pause.

Severus had always been the one behind the camera, stubbornly refusing to be in most of the photos himself. He was meticulous about recording the date and location of each trip at the start of every album, his neat, precise handwriting starkly factual.

Hermione, on the other hand, had always been the sentimental one. She would scribble notes in the margins or on the backs of photographs, capturing the small, significant moments that made the trips special. She'd write about the things they had laughed about, the sights that had taken their breath away, and even the arguments that seemed so trivial in hindsight.

Severus had teased her for it, calling her overly sentimental and insisting that memories were better kept in a Pensieve than written down. But Hermione had argued that memories, in their essence, were fleeting. There was value in preserving them as they were—fragile, imperfect, but human.

He'd never admitted to agreeing with her, of course, but she had caught him more than once smiling fondly as he read through her notes. She knew he secretly appreciated them, even if he'd never say it aloud.

Her hand hovered over the drawer, tempted to pull out one of the albums. But she knew better. If she opened it, she'd spend the rest of the night crying and staring at photographs she wasn't ready to confront.

With a deep breath, she shut the drawer again, her resolve hardening.

She'd finally managed to approach his nightstand tonight—progress, she told herself.

Tomorrow, she'd dust it. Small steps.

The same methodical pace she'd followed when she'd emptied his clothes from their closet.

Feeling both drained and determined, she turned to her own side of the bed.

Her eyes lingered on her own nightstand; she knew exactly what lay inside—particularly in the second drawer. Her chest tightened at the thought of it.

It held the wedding photos she had taken down, along with her wedding ring.

Before she realised what she was doing, she found herself opening the drawer, her fingers reaching for the ring.

She hadn't looked at it in months, not since the day she'd taken it off—the day she'd told Severus her decision. She hadn't been able to bear the sight of it, but its absence from her finger had been impossible to ignore.

Now, as her fingertips brushed the warm band, she felt a strange pang in her chest.

It was warm because Severus is still wearing his.

Their wedding bands, like many magical artefacts, had their own peculiar enchantments. This one, forged with care and intent, was designed to remain warm as long as the other person continued to wear their ring, a sign of the connection between them.

The rings also carried protective magic, shielding one another as long as both wore them. And, when worn by both, they acted as an unbreakable Portkey—a failsafe that no spell could override.

She ran her thumb over the ring's smooth surface, wondering for a fleeting moment if Severus could feel her touching it.

Then, just as suddenly, she placed it back in the drawer and shut it.

She sat back on the bed, her hands trembling slightly as she exhaled.

For now, the memories could remain exactly where they were—tucked away, out of sight.

A\N: Hello everyone :) ! So... I'm not dead ... yet. And I'm sorry for my veeeery loooong absence.

This chapter was long overdue, and I was genuinely planning to release it a long time ago, but in all honesty, the past year has been hell. I have lost all motivation to write, I won't get into too much detail, suffice it to say that all this talk about wars and genocides happening around the world happens to be too close to home.

But, I never planned to abandon this story, I knew all along I would come back when the time was right, and perhaps it's now.

I have gotten into other fandoms as well. It motivated me to start working on another story; one featured in BG3's (Baldur's Gate 3) fandom. And I plan to release it once I have a certain amount of chapters ready. So if you're interested, subscribe to my user to get updated!

And don't worry, this fiction will still get as much attention as the other one/s until it's properly finished. (and perhaps more than usual—I don't exactly have a great record to break XD)

That being said, I'm thankful for all of you that are still here, and those who checked on me and are still eager to read the story.

Please know that each interaction means the world to me, and it reminds me that I'm not the only one eager to know what happens in this little story of mine :)

A special thanks to my lovely friend ElianaKarasu123 for reviewing this chapter and motivating me to finish it!

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