Y/n had been curled up on the far end of the leather sofa for the better part of an hour. Textbook open on her lap. Phone balanced on her knee. Waiting.

Draco had said he'd be back in ten minutes. That had been forty-five ago.

From the corner near the window, Mattheo Riddle leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed. He'd been quiet all evening, his eyes tracking the conversation with an expression that was harder to read than usual. A cigarette hung loosely between his fingers, unsmoked.

Y/n's thumb hovered over her phone. Still nothing.