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The manor windows framed a world of falling snow. II stood in the doorway of the kitchen, wrapped in the heavy folds of III’s hoodie, the fabric strained over the full, round prominence of his pregnancy. Inside, the other Vessels sat in a companionable circle, the steam from their tea rising into the quiet air. A deep, weary yawn broke from him unbidden. All movement stopped. Four sets of masked eyes lifted and settled on him, a silent, protective focus that seemed to hold the very chill of winter at bay. From the doorway, II gave them a soft, exhausted smile.