The animal clinic stood modestly between a rundown laundromat and a closed-down pizza joint—unassuming, forgettable, the kind of place you drove past without a second glance.

The bell above the door chimed as it swung shut behind Y/N, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet space.

Across the desk, Deaton set down the pen he'd been holding. His eyes held something between relief and sorrow.