The corridor near the greenhouse entrance was quiet, the usual hum of students absent as most lingered in the warmth of the castle during the chilly February afternoon. Hermione, on her way back from gathering ingredients for her Potions assignment, paused when she heard familiar voices around the corner. She stopped instinctively, recognising Lily's voice first, soft but tinged with firmness.

"Severus, I can't accept this," Lily said, holding something out to him. "It must have cost you so much. I know your situation."

"I wanted you to have it," Severus replied, his voice low and steady but laced with frustration. "It's a gift, Lily. I don't care about the cost."

Hermione edged closer, her back pressed against the stone wall as she peered around the corner. Lily held the charm bracelet Hermione had seen on her birthday, her fingers brushing over the delicate silver before offering it back to Severus. Her expression was pained, torn, but her resolve was unmistakable.

"I can't," Lily said again, more firmly this time. "Please, just take it."

"No." Severus's voice hardened as he folded his arms, refusing to reach for the bracelet. "It's yours. I made it for you."

Lily hesitated, her brows knitting together in visible frustration. "Severus," she began, her voice dropping, "are you still friends with Avery and Mulciber?"

Severus stiffened, his expression faltering for the briefest moment. He exhaled sharply. "Yes. But they—"

"Then nothing's changed," Lily interrupted, her voice trembling slightly but resolute. She stepped closer, pressing the bracelet into his hand with more force than before. "I can't keep this if you're still running with people like them. They—what they believe, what they do—it's not something I can overlook. Not anymore."

"Lily, it's not that simple," Severus began, his voice pleading now, but she stepped back, shaking her head.

"It's always been simple, Severus," Lily said softly, but the sadness in her tone was unmistakable. "You've made your choice. I've made mine."

She turned abruptly, her steps quick and purposeful as she walked away, leaving Severus standing there, the charm bracelet clutched tightly in his hand. He didn't call after her, just stood frozen in place, his face a mixture of frustration, regret, and something unspoken.

Hermione stayed hidden, her heart heavy as she watched the exchange. She felt a pang of sympathy for both of them but also an undeniable sense of admiration for Lily's strength. When Severus finally moved, shoving the bracelet into his robes and stalking off in the opposite direction, Hermione stepped out from the shadows, her mind whirling with everything she'd just witnessed.

She turned back toward the castle, deciding to take the long way to her dormitory, her thoughts weighed down by the fragility and finality of friendships lost to ideology and choice.

The first prefect meeting of March had just concluded, and the usual shuffle of chairs and quiet chatter filled the room as students gathered their things. Hermione and James stood near the enchanted blackboard, finishing a conversation with a Ravenclaw about adjustments to the patrol schedule. As the room began to empty, the seventh-year Slytherin prefect, Avery, approached them, his gait unhurried and his expression unreadable.

Hermione's sharp eyes caught Regulus glancing their way from the corner of the room. He hesitated for a moment, his hand tightening on the strap of his bag, before slipping out of the room without a word. The Averys arrival drew her attention back, and she straightened slightly, her instincts already on edge.

"Potter. Prewett," he said smoothly, his voice calm but carrying an undertone that made Hermione's skin prickle. "A word?"

James folded his arms, his posture relaxed but his tone firm. "What about?"

The Slytherin smiled faintly, his gaze flicking around the now-emptying room. "Just thought I'd extend an... opportunity. You've got potential, both of you. It'd be a shame to waste it."

Hermione frowned, glancing at James, who looked equally perplexed. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice cautious.

Avery's smile didn't falter. "Let's just say there are... individuals out there who value ambition. Power. Visionaries like yourselves."

James's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing. "You're going to have to be a lot clearer than that."

The Slytherin leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "There's a greater cause at work, Potter. One that rewards those who recognise the tide of history and choose the winning side. I'm simply suggesting you consider where your talents would be most appreciated."

Hermione's stomach turned, her mind racing as she tried to piece together his veiled words. The Slytherin straightened, his expression calm and composed. "Think about it," he said smoothly, giving them a final look before turning and walking away, his robes billowing slightly as he exited the room.

For a moment, neither of them moved, their confusion hanging in the air like a dense fog. Then, like a thunderclap, realisation hit.

"Was he for real?" James blurted, his voice incredulous. He turned to Hermione, his hazel eyes wide with disbelief. "Did he just—was that supposed to be a recruitment pitch?"

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes narrowing in anger. "He's working for Voldemort," she hissed, her voice low but trembling with fury. "That's what he meant. The 'winning side'? Ambition? He was asking us to join the Death Eaters."

James swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he began pacing. "That slimy git. He actually thought we'd consider it."

Hermione glanced toward the door where the Slytherin had vanished. "It was subtle. Too subtle at first. He probably thinks he can plant the idea and let it fester."

James stopped pacing, his expression hardening. "Well, he's got another thing coming. There's no bloody way."

"Of course not," Hermione said firmly, though her voice was tinged with unease. "But we have to tell Dumbledore about this. If they're trying to recruit inside Hogwarts..."

James nodded sharply. "Yeah. First thing tomorrow."

Hermione looked toward the door again, her fists clenched. "I can't believe—after everything—they think we'd even consider..."

James placed a hand on her shoulder, his tone softer now. "They clearly don't know us at all. Come on, let's get out of here."

As they left the room together, their determination solidified. They had just been reminded, yet again, of the stakes they were up against—and it only made them more resolved to stand against Voldemort, no matter what.

The Head Student dorm felt unusually tense as James and Hermione exchanged glances, the weight of their earlier encounter with Avery still heavy on their minds. Before they could fully process it, a sharp knock at the door startled them both. James opened it to find Lily standing there, her face pale and her hands trembling slightly.

"Lily?" Hermione asked, concerned as she quickly stepped closer. "What's wrong?"

Lily swallowed hard, glancing over her shoulder as though checking for eavesdroppers before stepping inside. "Severus," she said quietly, her voice shaking. "He... he just approached me. I thought I was clear when I gave back the bracelet, but… "

James frowned, his protective instincts flaring. "What did he say?"

Lily exhaled shakily. "He said the Dark Lord is willing to overlook my... 'unfortunate parentage,' as he put it. Because I've got talent. That I could be... useful." Her voice broke on the last word, and she rubbed her arms as though trying to shake off the encounter.

James's expression darkened, and he immediately turned to Hermione. "Hold that thought." He strode to the door, sticking his head out into the corridor. "Oi! Padfoot! Moony!"

It didn't take long for Sirius and Remus to arrive, both looking curious but concerned. Once they were in the room, James shut the door, casting a privacy charm with a quick flick of his wand.

"Alright," he said, his tone firm as he addressed Lily. "Tell them what you just told us."

Lily hesitated, her gaze flickering to Sirius and Remus. She took a deep breath before repeating Severus's pitch, her voice steadying as she spoke. When she finished, Sirius let out a low whistle, his face twisted in a mix of anger and incredulity.

"That slimy git actually thinks you'd join them?" Sirius muttered, shaking his head. "He's delusional."

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We just got cornered after the prefect meeting too. The seventh-year Slytherin prefect, Avery, made a pitch to us about Voldemort's so-called 'winning side.' Subtle at first, but it became pretty clear what he was implying."

Remus leaned forward, his brows furrowed.

"Did anyone approach either of you two?" James asked, looking between Sirius and Remus.

Sirius snorted, leaning back in his chair. "No. They already know where I stand. Refused to take the Mark after fifth year, remember? That little rebellion got me a nice round of torture before I ran away. Pretty sure I'm not on their recruitment list anymore."

Remus shook his head. "No one's said anything to me."

James frowned, his arms crossing over his chest. "Well, there goes my theory that they're targeting based on 'battle performance' after Hogsmeade."

"It could still be that," Hermione interjected, her tone thoughtful. "Maybe they just haven't gotten around to cornering Remus yet. Or they're targeting purebloods specifically, and Lily's an exception because Snape begged for her."

"Kitten," Sirius said with a dry laugh, raising an eyebrow at her. "Everyone knows by now, thanks to Snape, that you're not a pureblood."

"It's still a Sacred Twenty-Eight name," Hermione pointed out, her voice sharp. "Or maybe they assume I'm a package deal with James. I don't know."

"Either way," Remus said calmly, his voice cutting through the tension, "this is calculated. If they're approaching students, it's because they think they'll gain something from it."

James nodded grimly. "They're trying to divide us—get people to join them while we're still in school."

Lily hugged herself, her expression hardening. "It won't work. Not on me."

"Or us," James said firmly, glancing at Hermione, Sirius, and Remus, who all nodded in agreement.

"Good," Sirius said, standing and cracking his knuckles. "Because if they think they can intimidate us into joining them, they've got another thing coming."

"Agreed," James said, his hazel eyes blazing with determination. "But we need to tell Dumbledore. If they're trying to recruit here, he needs to know. We were already going to talk to him tomorrow but you guys should come as well."

Lily nodded, her expression resolute. "Yeah, sure."

The group exchanged determined glances, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Despite the fear and tension lingering in the room, there was a shared sense of resolve. Together, they would face whatever came next.

The morning air was brisk as Hermione, James, Sirius, Remus, and Lily made their way to Dumbledore's office, their footsteps echoing in the quiet corridors of the castle. The weight of the previous day's events hung over them, unspoken but deeply felt. James spoke the current password—"Ice Mice"—and the spiral staircase revealed itself, leading them upward.

Inside, Dumbledore greeted them with his usual serene smile, his blue eyes twinkling with a knowing glint. He gestured for them to sit, but none of them did, their energy too restless.

"Professor," James began, his voice steady but urgent, "we need to tell you about something that happened yesterday."

Taking turns, they recounted their encounters—Lily with Snape, and James and Hermione with Avery. Dumbledore listened intently, nodding occasionally but otherwise silent, his expression unreadable.

When they finished, there was a pause before he finally spoke. "Your reactions were exactly what I would have hoped for. And I thank you for bringing this to my attention."

James looked as though he were about to ask a question, but Dumbledore continued, his serene smile deepening. "That said, I believe this is an appropriate time to extend an invitation. James, Hermione—I have already spoken to you about this in a broader sense, but I would like to formally invite all of you to join the Order of the Phoenix after graduation."

There was a beat of silence, the gravity of the words settling in the room. Sirius's eyebrows shot up, while Remus remained composed, though his eyes narrowed in thought. Lily's lips parted in surprise, and James blinked, caught off guard by the abruptness of it all.

"You're serious?" Sirius asked, breaking the silence with a grin. Then he added with a wink, "And I don't mean me."

Dumbledore's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Quite serious, Mr Black. However, I must impress upon you all the utmost discretion. Your involvement in the Order must remain confidential, for your own safety and that of others."

"We're in," James said without hesitation, glancing around at his friends. "All of us."

Sirius nodded firmly, and Remus followed with a quieter but equally resolute, "Of course."

Lily hesitated for just a moment before saying, "Yes. I want to help."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I am grateful for your willingness. We shall discuss the details of your involvement in due course. For now, please enjoy your breakfast."

The five of them turned to leave, but Hermione held back, placing a gentle hand on James's arm. "I'll catch up," she said softly. James gave her a curious look but didn't press, following the others out.

As the door clicked shut behind James and the others, Dumbledore's sharp blue gaze shifted to Hermione, his expression calm but knowing. He gestured toward one of the chairs across from his desk. "Miss Prewett, please, sit. I take it there is something you wish to discuss?"

Hermione hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her robes before she took the offered seat. She met his gaze, her heart pounding. Those piercing blue eyes always seemed to see more than she wanted to share.

"There's something I need to say," Hermione began, her voice steady despite her nerves. "It's about Peter Pettigrew."

Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. "Go on."

"I don't think he should be invited to the Order," she said firmly. "Ever."

Dumbledore's brows rose faintly, his gaze intensifying. "That is a very strong position to take, Miss Prewett. May I ask why you feel so certain about this?"

Hermione opened her mouth, then paused, choosing her words carefully. "I've been observing Peter for years now. He's loyal in his way, but... he's also insecure and easily influenced. I believe he would be vulnerable to coercion—or worse, temptation—from the other side."

Dumbledore regarded her silently for a moment, his expression calm but contemplative. "You believe this based solely on observation?"

Hermione hesitated. "Not... entirely."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly, though his tone remained gentle. "Am I correct in assuming, Miss Prewett, that your concerns are informed by your unique perspective—your knowledge of what is yet to come?"

Hermione froze, her heart racing. Slowly, she nodded.

"Yes," she admitted. "I know that in the future... Peter betrays the Order. And his friends."

Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his piercing gaze unwavering. "And this betrayal—how serious is it?"

Hermione swallowed hard, her voice low. "It's catastrophic. Countless lives are lost because of it, and not just Order members. Voldemort benefits directly from Peter's actions."

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint ticking of one of Dumbledore's enchanted instruments. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but firm. "A grave accusation, Miss Prewett. And one I do not take lightly."

"I'm not asking you to confront him. There is no point, he hasn't done it yet," Hermione said quickly, her words tumbling out. "I just... I don't think he should be brought into the Order. He can't be trusted with that level of access. Even if we've already changed so much, I can't risk it."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled. "You are aware, of course, that excluding him may have its own consequences. Peter's trust in his friends may falter if he perceives himself as being pushed aside."

"I know," Hermione said quietly. "And I don't like it. But the alternative is far worse."

Dumbledore studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a slow nod. "Very well. Should Peter Pettigrew express interest in joining the Order, I will find a way to dissuade him. But I must ask—have you shared this concern with anyone else?"

Hermione hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. "James knows the full extent," she admitted. "But he's optimistic—he believes we can change things so much that Peter never even has the opportunity to betray us. He refuses to treat Peter as if he's already done it when, in his eyes, he hasn't."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed slightly, though he didn't interrupt. Hermione continued, her voice quieter, tinged with a faint hint of frustration. "Remus knows to some extent as well, but not all the details. I didn't think it would be fair to burden him with everything. Beyond them, no one else knows."

Dumbledore's gaze softened slightly, and he inclined his head. "Mr Potter's optimism is admirable, though it is clear that you bear the weight of foresight more heavily than he does. Your caution, Miss Prewett, is well-placed, but his perspective is not without merit. A balance between vigilance and hope may serve you both well."

"I know," Hermione said quietly. "And I want to believe James is right. I really do. But I can't take that risk. Not with what's at stake."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "It is a fine line to walk, but you are navigating it with remarkable care. I will honour your concerns and take the necessary steps should Mr Pettigrew show interest in joining the Order."

Relief washed over Hermione, though the weight on her shoulders remained. "Thank you, Professor."

"You needn't thank me," Dumbledore said gently. "It is your courage—and the trust you have placed in those around you—that will shape the path forward. History may be a heavy burden, but it is not an unchangeable one."

Hermione managed a small, grateful smile, though her mind still churned with the implications of their conversation. She turned to leave, her hand on the door when Dumbledore spoke again.

"Miss Prewett?"

She glanced back. "Yes?"

"Do not underestimate the strength of your allies. It is not only the knowledge you bring from the future that will alter the course of events—it is the bonds you are forging in the present."

Hermione nodded, his words sinking in as she stepped out into the corridor. Even with the weight of her knowledge pressing down on her, she felt a flicker of hope that, together, they might still find a way to change the course of history.

As Hermione stepped out of Dumbledore's office, the door clicking softly behind her, she found James leaning casually against the gargoyle, his arms crossed. His hazel eyes flicked up to meet hers, searching. "You just got Peter excluded, didn't you?"

She hesitated, guilt flickering across her face. "I... yes," she admitted, her voice quieter than usual.

James sighed, pushing off the wall and standing upright. "Don't worry," he said, his tone calm but firm. "I'm not naive enough to believe that Peter may never betray us. I just refuse to treat him in the moment as if he already has."

Hermione blinked, surprised by the admission. "You agree with him not joining?" she asked carefully.

"I do," James said with a nod. "But I wish you'd stop doing these things behind my back." His voice softened, though there was still a trace of frustration. "You can talk to me, Hermione. You know that, right?"

"I know," she said, her voice tinged with remorse. "It's just... this is hard, James. I see him every day, and I see how much he adores you and the others, and I feel like a horrible person for even thinking this way about him."

James stepped closer, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. "You're not horrible. You're trying to protect all of us. I get it, Kitten. But we're in this together. If you're carrying something like that, don't shut me out. Please."

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I just didn't want to upset you. Or make you feel like I'm undermining you."

"You're not," he assured her, his hands sliding down to take hers. "But I need you to trust me, Hermione. If we're going to face all of this together—Voldemort, the war, everything—you have to let me in."

Hermione nodded, squeezing his hands tightly. "I'll try. I promise."

James smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "That's all I ask. Now, let's go. Sirius is probably waiting to complain about how long you've been up here."

Hermione chuckled softly, and together they made their way back to the Great Hall, the weight between them eased just slightly by the shared understanding.

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual lunchtime chatter on March 9th, the clinking of cutlery and laughter filling the air. Hermione sat across from James, absentmindedly twirling her fork as she read through her Arithmancy notes. A flutter of wings caught her attention, and she looked up just in time to see an owl swoop down and drop a letter neatly in front of her.

She frowned slightly, brushing her curls back as she picked it up. The envelope was unassuming, her name written in neat, slanted handwriting. Breaking the seal, she unfolded the parchment inside and began to read. Her expression shifted from curious to delighted as her eyes skimmed the letter.

"Good news?" James asked, raising an eyebrow from across the table.

Hermione didn't respond immediately, a small, almost secretive smile tugging at her lips as she folded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope.

Remus, sitting further down the table, had been watching her with quiet curiosity. "What's that about?" he asked casually, his tone light but with a hint of genuine interest.

Hermione glanced at him, her smile widening as she cast a wordless Muffliato on their little cluster at the table. Without a word, she handed him the letter, her voice soft as she said, "Consider it an early birthday present."

Remus frowned in confusion but took the letter, unfolding it carefully. His sharp eyes scanned the contents, and as understanding dawned on him, his jaw slackened slightly. "This is real?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his tone a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"It's real," Hermione confirmed, her voice steady but her eyes warm with satisfaction.

Remus glanced at her, then back at the letter, rereading the words as if to ensure he hadn't misunderstood. "Damocles Belby… clinical trials…" His voice trailed off, and he looked at Hermione with a searching expression. "You did this?"

Hermione leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "I met Belby at the Slug Club Christmas party in sixth year. We got to talking, and I may have given him a few 'advance' tips to perfect his formula."

Remus's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers tightening on the parchment as he understood the implication perfectly. "Hermione, this… this could change everything."

"I know," she said softly, her eyes glinting with the weight of her knowledge. "I couldn't say too much without raising suspicion, but he's brilliant. He just needed the right nudge in the right direction."

Remus nodded, his gaze flickering back to the letter. A faint smile crossed his face, though it was tinged with emotion. "Thank you," he murmured.

Hermione reached across the table, resting a hand briefly on his arm. "It's not just for you, Remus. It's for everyone like you. And if I can help make that happen, even a little bit, then it's worth it."

James, who had been watching the exchange with mild confusion, leaned over. "Are we going to clue me in here, or am I just supposed to keep guessing?"

Remus gave James a small, almost shy smile and folded the letter, tucking it into his robes. "It's nothing, really," he said, glancing at Hermione with a look that clearly said otherwise. "Just… hope."

Hermione's lips curved into a soft smile, a knowing look passing between her and Remus. The conversation shifted naturally around them as the noise of the Great Hall resumed, but Hermione noticed the way Remus sat a little straighter, his shoulders less burdened, a faint spark of light shining through his usually guarded demeanour.

James leaned closer to her, clearly still curious, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly in questioning. Hermione met his gaze and, with a small, reassuring smile, mouthed, "I'll tell you later."

Though still curious, James accepted the silent promise with a slight nod, leaning back and turning his attention to Sirius, who had launched into an animated retelling of some Quidditch story that had Peter and the nearby first-years hanging on every word. Hermione caught Remus's eye again, and he gave her a grateful look before turning his focus to his plate, a tiny smile still lingering on his lips.

James was sprawled on the couch in the Head Student dorms, twirling his wand idly between his fingers when Hermione entered after classes. The moment he saw her, his eyes lit up, and he swung his legs off the couch to sit up straight.

"So," he began, his voice brimming with excitement, "that letter at lunch—was it what I think it was?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, dropping her bag onto a chair. "James, you were right there when I handed it to Remus. You already know it's what you think it is."

James leaned forward, his grin widening. "Yeah, but I need to hear you say it. Properly . Is it actually happening? Belby's potion, Wolfsbane—does this mean Moony could actually get it this year?"

Hermione sat beside him, a fond but exasperated look on her face. "Yes, James. Belby's potion is going into trials, and he's looking for candidates. If Remus wants, he could be part of those trials and—well—yes, he could have it this year."

James let out a triumphant laugh, throwing his arms around her in a tight hug. "Hermione, that's bloody brilliant! Do you realise what this means for him?"

She smiled, leaning into the hug before pulling back slightly. "I do. But it's still up to him. It's not a perfect solution, and there are bound to be side effects or risks before it's completely finalised. I don't want to pressure him into anything."

James shook his head, his grin undimmed. "Pressure? You've just given him hope, Hermione. Actual, tangible hope. Moony's never had that before."

"He was quiet about it," Hermione said softly. "But I could tell it meant the world to him. He tried to act casual, but you saw the look in his eyes."

James nodded, his hazel eyes bright. "I did. He's probably still trying to wrap his head around it. Just wait until he gets to the first full moon where it works. He'll be over the moon—literally."

Hermione laughed, a light sound that eased the tension she'd carried all day. "You're incorrigible."

James smirked, leaning back on the couch and pulling her into his side. "Maybe. But you're amazing, you know that? You've done something incredible for Remus—for all werewolves, really."

She ducked her head, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. "I just gave Belby a few hints. The rest is all him."

James tilted his head, his gaze soft but unwavering. "Don't sell yourself short. Without you, this wouldn't have happened. Or well, not for a long time still. And Moony knows it too."

Hermione smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. "Thanks, James. That means a lot."

The March 24th full moon passed with little incident, a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the previous month. By now, their routine was seamless. They knew Moony's triggers, the parts of the forest to avoid, and how to manage the night's unpredictable turns.

Hermione had discreetly slipped a Calming Draught to Remus a few hours before the transformation, under the guise of general preparation, hoping to avoid the way he reacted after the Hogsmeade battle if it was still affecting him. It wasn't a perfect solution—Moony was still very much a werewolf, instincts sharp and quick to ignite at the scent of a nearby human—but there was an undeniable difference. His run was less erratic, his agitation muted. Hermione silently marvelled at how no one had thought of this before.

As Prongs nudged Moony back from an enticing scent trail that led too close to the castle grounds, Hermione—safe in her ermine form—darted around them, her small frame light and quick. She chirped softly, her form naturally effervescent, and Moony paused, his ears twitching. Padfoot bounded forward to distract him further, tail wagging as he playfully wrestled the werewolf back toward their usual paths.

Inwardly, Hermione cursed the wizarding world's neglect of lycanthropy research. Madam Pomfrey had never mentioned Calming Draughts or any preparatory potions, and from what Hermione had pieced together from Remus, no one had ever even suggested them.

She wondered bitterly why such a simple solution had been overlooked. Was it ignorance? Or the stigma surrounding lycanthropy? Either way, she found it maddening. But with Wolfsbane Potion nearing its trials, perhaps these nights of tension and careful navigation would soon become a thing of the past.

Still, even in the simplicity of the night, Hermione found herself thinking of the future—one where Remus could transform safely in a room, where they wouldn't have to spend hours ensuring no one wandered too close as they exhausted their friend so that he didn't maul himself instead.

The first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, signalling the night's end. As they guided Moony back to the Shrieking Shack for the transformation back into Remus, Hermione felt a pang of relief. For all the frustration, there was something grounding about their routine, about being together as a pack. They were one night closer to a better solution—one night closer to change.