Raymond sat silently across from his father. Alastor leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk as he studied his son’s troubled expression.

“Have you spoken to her?” Alastor asked, his voice calm but probing.

Raymond’s head dropped, his hands gripping his knees tightly. “No,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t seen her since it happened.”

“Raymond,” Alastor began, his tone firmer, “avoiding her isn’t the answer. You need to talk to her.”

“I don’t think she’ll listen,” Raymond said, his voice laced with guilt. “After what she saw…”

Alastor’s brow furrowed. “What exactly did she see?”

Raymond swallowed hard, the memory flooding back like a...