Therese had shut her eyes to enjoy the gentle breeze, and if her eyes had stayed closed for one second longer, she would have missed the man that briskly walked by. Her eyes narrowed as his profile was---familiar, and staring at his now departing form caused a sense of nostalgia to sweep over her. Therese found herself standing, hands out as if she might fall to the ground. He looked just like...No, it couldn't be...
Eyes narrowed, she hurried after him, wondering, just wondering...
They had found his body. They had found him, she remembered, she remembered that horrible night, but she also remembered...She had remembered Mackenzie mentioning in passing that Caradoc's old girlfriend was in New York, it---that connection was there. If this was just some man that looked like him, if it was someone who could pass as if his brother, then she could simply let it go. She could easily talk her way out of the confusion, the poor muggle wouldn't even get a chance to look her in the eye before she determined that he indeed wasn't Caradoc Dearborn.
But what if it was? Therese had heard countless stories from Remy about people disappearing to escape the terrors of war, he had misled her for years, he'd kept his identity a secret to keep himself alive. So could---Therese would never have dared grab hold of a stranger's arm if she hadn't felt the innate tug that yes, she did know this man.
"Excuse me, sir?" she said, reaching out to take hold of the crook of his arm. Her other hand gripped itself around her wand, in case he didn't take too kindly to being accosted.
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