"So, Polyjuice Potion," Vincent said, hands in his pockets as he walked beside Hermione. "That's how you plan to get Malfoy to spill?"
"Well, how else are we supposed to do it?" Hermione replied, glancing sideways at him as they made their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Students gave them lingering stares as they passed. Some whispered. Vincent sighed.
"Why am I so damn popular..." he muttered under his breath.
Hermione's eye twitched. She turned to him with a deadpan glare.
"Let's see: you dueled Snape, cook like you've been blessed by the culinary gods, brewed a potion that nearly cratered the front lawn, and—oh right—you're a Muggle who's not even supposed to be here. If that doesn't make you popular, I don't know what does."
"...We could just beat the answer out of Malfoy," Vincent offered, attempting to change the subject.
Without missing a beat, Hermione smacked him on the head with a book.
"I deserved that," Vincent chuckled, rubbing his scalp. She rolled her eyes.
"But seriously," he continued, "Polyjuice Potion's in the restricted section, right? You need a teacher's permission to get the recipe. No professor would be dumb enough to—" He paused, grimaced. "Oh wait. There is one."
They reached the classroom just in time to see Lockhart dramatically reenacting one of his many so-called heroic feats. Harry was pretending to be a werewolf, looking thoroughly miserable. He caught Vincent's eye, silently pleading for help.
Vincent shrugged helplessly.
He and Hermione slid into seats beside Ron as Lockhart pranced about with exaggerated flair.
"Ah, Miss Granger, and..." Lockhart's expression faltered slightly as his eyes landed on Vincent. The image of a mushroom cloud rising from the front lawn was clearly still vivid in his mind. "...Mr. Wong."
"Sorry we're late, sir," Hermione said sweetly. "We just had to grab something from the library."
"Not a problem at all, Miss Granger!" Lockhart beamed. "Now, come, witness how I single-handedly subdued the Wagga Wagga Werewolf!"
Vincent leaned back, arms crossed.
"...Have fun Harry," he muttered a silent prayer for his friend's suffering.
...
"You think Hermione's got it?" Ron asked, watching the bushy-haired girl nervously approach Lockhart.
"She'll be fine," Vincent said, waving it off. "Look—she's got the signature. He didn't even read what he was signing."
Hermione gave them a quick nod, signaling it was time to move.
"Ah, Harry! Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, isn't it? Gryffindor versus Slytherin—"
"Goodbye, Professor!" Vincent quickly cut in, dragging Harry out by the arm before Lockhart could launch into another long-winded story about his so-called triumphs.
When they reached the library, Madam Pince raised an eyebrow at the request.
"Moste Potente Potions?" she repeated, eyeing Hermione suspiciously.
She took the permission slip and examined it as though it might bite her. After a tense pause, she disappeared into the stacks, returning a moment later with a massive, moldy tome that looked like it hadn't been opened in a century.
"You do live up to your title, Mr. Wong," she said as she handed the book—not to Hermione, but to Vincent. "Only someone mad or utterly reckless would attempt half the potions in this book."
Vincent stiffened, resisting the urge to yell. Instead, he accepted the book with a strained expression while the others snorted behind him.
"I'm not mad," he muttered under his breath. "You're mad. Everyone's mad."
"I think he's losing it," Ron whispered, earning a giggle from Hermione.
Later, they found refuge in one of the stalls of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom—Hermione's chosen brewing ground, thanks to its reputation for being completely avoided.
As the others discussed the steps of brewing Polyjuice Potion, Vincent flipped through the pages, eyes gleaming with intrigue.
"The ability to transform into anyone..." his inner mad scientist mused. "Now, what would happen if I messed with the formula just a little..."
"I can get the ingredients," Vincent said, drawing everyone's attention. "But since the fluxweed has to be picked at the full moon, and the lacewings need to stew for twenty-one days, the earliest we could brew it is in about a month. And with Christmas coming up, that complicates things."
"What does Christmas have to do with it?" Hermione asked, frowning.
"I'm heading back to London for the holidays," Vincent replied. "I'll prep the ingredients before I go, in case you lot decide to go ahead without me."
The trio exchanged glances, a bit surprised by the sudden announcement.
Vincent kept going, unaware. "You'll also need to get something with their DNA—hair, maybe? Think you can manage that?"
"Oh," Hermione said, forcing a smile, "We'll figure something out. It's the best plan we've got, so let's stick with it. If Malfoy stays over the break, we'll make our move then. Don't worry about us, Vincent."
Vincent gave a slow nod, though he couldn't shake the odd mood settling over the group.
What he didn't realize was just how deeply he'd become woven into their lives. It was strange—Harry, Ron, and Hermione had formed a tight-knit bond in their first year, and yet Vincent, arriving only this year, had carved out a place among them without even trying. His presence had become a fixture in their world. The idea of him being gone, even briefly, felt oddly...off.
While Hermione peeked out to check the corridor, Ron leaned over to Harry and muttered, "Would save us a whole lot of trouble if you just knocked Malfoy off his broom tomorrow."
...
Harry woke up early on Saturday morning. After an hour of lying in bed to calm his nerves for the big game, he went to eat breakfast but noticed that one bed was empty.
"Hm, where's Vincent?" Harry thought curiously before shaking the thought off, "Maybe he went to train Neville?"
But that thought was brushed off as soon as he saw Neville snoring loudly. Harry walked downstairs to meet the rest of the Gryffindor team all looking just as nervous. They were all feeling pressured by the fact that Slytherin all had far better brooms then them. Despite that, they were all determined to win.
The moment the clock hit eleven, the whole school had started making their way down to the stadium. Harry had just met up with Ron and Hermione before they all felt that something was very off. Harry sniffed the air, getting a whiff of a delicious fragrance. He stood confused before his face morphed into one of pure shock as he exchanged glances with Ron and Hermione who both realized the same thing.
"Check the stands, now!" Harry said before heading to the Gryffindor lockers.
It wasn't only the three of them that noticed either. Half of the school had noticed the wondrous smell in the air and started climbing the stands to investigate what the source was. Hermione and Ron made it up there later only to stared slack-jawed at the scene before them.
...
"Whatever is that smell?" Dumbledore thought as he sat in his stand, "Hmm? Why are all the students gathered in the Gryffindor stands?"
He, along with the other teachers, used a spell that allowed them to see what was causing the commotion. Snape, in particular, used a Far Sight potion that Vincent had made to take a closer look at the stands. His face slackened as he saw what was getting their attention.
Professor McGonagall watched Lee Jordan, who was the Quidditch commentator, come up to the stand a little later holding a package of sorts.
"What's going on?" McGonagall asked, noticing the commotion in the stands.
"Well, you see," Lee said as he unwrapped what looked like—
"Pizza?" she thought before her eyes widened at Lee's explanation, "HE WHAT?!"
"What does that boy think his doing?!" Snape thought furiously.
"Ha, ha," Dumbledore chuckled, "that boy sure likes to make a commotion, doesn't he?"
"He's mad," Ron said hollowly to Hermione, "He really is bloody mad!"
As the teams walked out, they noticed that a majority of the cheers came from the Gryffindor stands. They felt puzzled seeing the lack of people on the other three stands. They were soon snapped out of thought by Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher who asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.
"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three... two... one..."
The moment Harry rose from the ground he saw what caused the commotion and put his head in his hands.
"So that's where he's been all morning," he muttered in disbelief.
All of the other players all stopped in mid-air to see a certain person cooking for all the spectators.
"Three sickles each!" Vincent yelled as he cooked what looked like small grilled pizzas, "Vegetarian on the left and the normal ones in the middle! A pixie will go around collecting your money and serving food!"
Vincent had about three different grills going on all filled with small pizzas. Nyx was rushing around handing out pizzas and getting money in return to which she deposited inside a small bag.
He had woken up extremely early, having to set up all his equipment at the stadium. He prepared a majority of uncooked pizzas beforehand so that he could cook them on the fly. The normal pizzas contained onions, small cuts of beef seasoned with spices and grilled vegetables which he did beforehand. He then covered it with cheese leaving it ready to grill. The result was a nicely grilled pizza with melted golden cheese encompassing the whole pizza dough.
For the vegetarian, he had tossed in broccoli, corn, red onion, cherry tomatoes, and basil. All of this was well seasoned beforehand with olive oil, salt, and pepper. After it was grilled, he had drizzled some more of the cream over it before finishing it with red pepper flakes.
Since he was paying for his own potion ingredients now, any bit of money would be well appreciated. And what better time to do it then during a sports event? After all, where there's chaos, there's profit.
"How the hell does he have that many ingredients?" Ron asked Hermione.
"A while ago, he received a bag from his guardian, Sister An," Hermione said watching Vincent hand out pizzas, "The inside of the bag has enough to fit five cars, or so Vincent claimed. That's some high-level magic."
"And he crammed it with cooking materials and ingredients?!" Ron asked in horror.
"Probably," Hermione said shrugging slightly.
Vincent noticed the players in the air looking at him, "Ok Nyx, open the banners!"
Nyx stopped handing out pizzas before grabbing on to a ribbon of sorts. She flew around, causing it to unfurl as the not-so decorative words unfurled.
FREE FOOD FOR THE GRYFFINDOR TEAM IF YOU WIN
The whole stadium fell silent as they saw the banner flutter above the Gryffindor stands. They turned to see Vincent a thumbs up to Harry before going back to his cooking.
For some reason, all of Harry's nerves vanished. In the end, he and the whole Gryffindor team started laughing.
"Thanks, Vince," Harry thought as he returned the gesture.
"Well played," George said hefting his budging rod as he admired the banner.
"We've got to win now!" Fred said laughing.
"C'mon you lot!" Wood yelled, "let's show these Slytherin's what we're made of! For the foo—I mean, for the Cup!"
The whole team cheered before the whistle blew, indicating the start of the match.
Vincent looked up curiously as he watched the match. He's never seen a Quidditch match before, so he was interested in how a sport played on broomsticks played out. Ron did explain to him the rules.
There were four balls used in Quidditch. The Quaffle was a red ball about the size of a basketball. Each team had three Chasers, whose job was to pass the Quaffle and score by throwing it through one of the three hoops on either end of the pitch, earning ten points per goal.
Then came the Bludgers—two smaller black balls enchanted to fly around wildly and try to knock players off their brooms. Each team had two Beaters whose job was to defend their teammates from the Bludgers or whack them toward the opposing team.
Finally, there was the Golden Snitch—the smallest and most important ball in the game. It was a tiny, gold, winged sphere that zipped around the field at incredible speeds. Catching the Snitch earned a team 150 points and immediately ended the match. That task fell to the Seeker—in Gryffindor's case, Harry.
"Are you bloody mad?!" Ron came up to Vincent, "This is what you spent all morning doing?"
"Woke up at six," Vincent said, "Just because you don't want to get out of bed, doesn't mean others feel the same."
Ron scratched his head in embarrassment while Hermione giggled.
"Nyx, can you handle it?" Vincent said indicating to the finished pile of grilled pizzas. Nyx nodded and gave a salute, "Thanks, here, you two can have these for free."
Hermione and Ron's eyes lit up as they munched on their snacks.
Vincent smiled before looking towards the field, a frown now forming on his face, "I may be new to Quidditch, but Bludger's aren't meant to act like that right?"
Hermione and Ron looked at Harry as he dodged a Bludger that came right at him only for it to come back at him. Fred smacked the Bludger at another Slytherin before it did a one-eighty degree turn right back at Harry.
"Someone's tampered with the Bludger!" Ron yelled out in anger.
It was starting to rain slightly when the Gryffindor team signaled for a time out. Fred and George were busy trying to keep the Bludger away from Harry as they talked.
"Hermione, cast a spell to keep my stall dry," Vincent said as he made his way for the stairs.
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.
"I'm going to stop that Bludger from killing Harry!" Vincent called out before disappearing.
...
Harry was having a difficult time avoiding the Bludger. No matter what he did, it always seemed to shoot straight for him.
"I told Fred and George that I'll be fine, so they don't need to defend me," Harry thought as he dived to avoid the iron ball, "I hope that wasn't a mistake."
"All right there, Scarhead?" Malfoy yelled causing Harry to look over in anger before freezing. Hovering inches above Malfoy's left ear was the Golden Snitch.
Harry took too long to think. The Bludger smashed into his elbow, breaking his arm. Harry winced before resolve filled his eyes.
Malfoy's sneering face widened in fear as Harry zoomed towards him. He thought that Harry was attacking him. He dodged to the side in a panic.
Harry took his only arm of the broomstick leaving his broken arm dangling and his legs gripping the broom for dear life. He felt his hand closed around the Snitch and smiled before seeing the ground come up to him. He braced for impact before feeling someone catch him sending them both sprawling.
"Bloody hell Harry," Harry opened his eyes to see Vincent sprawled on the ground next to him, "Couldn't have crashed any lighter?"
"My bad," Harry smiled wryly and winced as he nursed his broken arm, "thanks for the save."
"No problem," Vincent returned the smile before freezing, "Harry watch out!"
"Wha—?!" Harry barely managed to duck as the Bludger crashed into the ground next to him, "That thing's still going?!"
Before the Bludger could attack again, Vincent's foot crashed into it sending it flying. Harry's eyes widened in amazement at the power before seeing the empty potion vial on the ground.
"Leg Strengthening potion?" he thought, remembering Vincent mentioning it at some point.
Just as the Bludger came flying right back, Vincent drew a rod before throwing it at the flying orb of death. The collision sent both objects flying as they both fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
"What, how?" Harry asked.
"Magic negating, interference or something like that, remember?" Vincent said as he collected his fallen rod, "I still don't know what it does honestly, but at least it worked."
Harry nodded as he stared at the Bludger to make sure it wasn't moving. Vincent sat on the cold wet ground beside Harry before pulling out a small package that miraculously remained clean.
"Want some?" Harry looked at the grilled pizza Vincent was holding out.
With a blank face, Harry took the opened pizza with his good arm before chomping down on it. It felt incredibly strange to eat food after what just transpired, but at this point, Harry didn't really care.
By the time Harry finished his meal, a crowd of concerned Gryffindor's had gathered around the two of them.
"You alright Harry?" Wood asked as he looked at Harry's broken arm, "That was one hell of a blow you took."
Before Harry had time to answer, Lockhart appeared before him causing his face to pale.
"Oh, no, not you," he moaned.
"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."
"No!" said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks."
"Professor Lockhart, I do think Harry would be fine," Vincent began before being ignored by Lockhart.
"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times—"
Vincent had to hold himself back from kicking the man since the Leg Strengthening potion still hadn't worn off. If he kicked him like this, Lockhart would most certainly die.
"No, don't," said Harry, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry's arm.
Vincent's eyes widened as he watched Harry's already mangled arm turn absolutely limp. Harry tried moving it only for it to bend in strange directions without any sign on pain. That idiotic teacher had removed all of his arm's bones.
"No one would miss him… right?" Vincent thought. Normally, he considered himself a pacifist—but at this particular moment, he was seriously weighing the merits of murdering a teacher. Just this once.
Lockhart felt cold sweat on flow down his back as he tried to avoid Vincent's murderous glare.
"Ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort Harry to the hospital wing," Lockhart said quickly.
"I'll just pack up my gear before joining you guys," Vincent said, earning a nod from Harry.
On his way back, he passed Malfoy getting loudly chewed out by Slytherin's captain, Marcus Flint. Vincent caught something about "the Snitch was right above your head, you blind git!" but didn't pay it much mind. He had equipment to collect.
As he re-entered the stands, he was immediately met by the disapproving stares of several teachers—except for Dumbledore, who looked positively delighted. Snape, on the other hand, looked like he was mentally rewriting the school rules just to find a way to punish him.
"It wasn't against the rules... right?" Vincent thought nervously.
"I'd like to place an order for that pizza of yours, Mr. Wong," Dumbledore asked cheerfully.
The rest of the staff just stared, dumbfounded, as the headmaster happily enjoyed his slice of pizza.
...
"So, you didn't get into trouble, right?" asked Ron as he ate the leftover food that Vincent prepared for the Gryffindor team.
"Just telling me to give them a heads up if I decide to do that again," Vincent said as he finished counting the money he received, "Huh, what do you know? I've made a grand total of forty galleons today if my math is correct. Some people must have come back for more."
"WHAT?!" Ron choked on his food.
"Maybe I shouldn't have said that," Vincent thought as he watched Ron mumble lifelessly to himself, repeating "maybe I should just be a cook..." like a broken record.
Later that day, Vincent swung by the hospital wing to visit Harry, only to arrive just in time for Madam Pomfrey to kick everyone out. With no other plans, he returned to the Common Room, to treat the Gryffindor team to his now-famous cooking. Everyone ate their fill, praising the food with tired but grateful smiles. Fred and George even clapped him on the back in appreciation before heading off to bed.
Soon, the Common Room was empty, save for Vincent, who sat by the fireplace with a book in hand and Nyx curled up, snoozing on his knee. The quiet crackle of the fire made for a peaceful atmosphere. He yawned, rubbing his eyes as he neared the end of a chapter—when a shadow flickered across the corner of his vision.
Someone was sneaking out.
He frowned, gently nudging Nyx awake.
"Back to the dorms, Nyx," he whispered. "I'm just going to check something out."
Nyx gave a sleepy nod before fluttering away.
"Who sneaks around this late...other than me of course? " Vincent thought as he quietly trailed the figure through the corridors. "Wait... is that, Colin?"
Sure enough, Colin Creevey was tiptoeing toward the hospital wing, a bunch of grapes in one hand and his camera in the other.
"What are you doing, Colin?" Vincent asked, stepping out from the shadows with arms crossed.
Colin jumped, nearly dropping his camera. "Oh! Vincent! You scared me."
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
"I was just, uh... bringing Harry a little something," Colin said sheepishly, holding up the grapes.
Vincent sighed, shaking his head slightly. Colin reminded him of the younger kids back at the orphanage—endearing but constantly up to something.
"I don't think now's a good time to—" Vincent began, then suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing. "Wait… did you hear that?"
Colin frowned, about to ask what he meant, but Vincent held up a hand to silence him.
"Listen," Vincent whispered. "We're not alone."
A faint sound echoed down the corridor—a slow, slithering scrape against the stone floor. Something heavy. Something unnatural.
Colin's face paled.
Vincent stepped forward slightly, pulling out his rods with a soft click, his stance shifting.
"Stay behind me, Colin," he said firmly, eyes scanning the shadows.
Colin nodded quickly and ducked behind him, clutching the grapes to his chest like they might offer protection.
"Where is it?" Vincent thought grimly, gaze flicking left and right. The sound was growing louder. Closer.
Whatever it was, it didn't sound friendly.
Colin, unsure of what else to do, fumbled with his camera. The flash went off several times as he snapped photos blindly down the corridor—until, through the lens, he caught a glimpse of something. Two glowing yellow eyes staring straight back at him from above.
"Vincent, above—!" Colin cried—then collapsed mid-sentence, frozen stiff.
"Colin!" Vincent turned and froze at the sight of the boy, rigid as stone. "He said above—!"
His instincts roared to life. He scooped up the petrified Colin and leapt to the side just as a massive shadow tore through the space he'd just been standing in, rushing past with a burst of wind and a low, rattling hiss.
"Damn it," Vincent growled, carefully setting Colin down beside the stairwell. "He only looked at it and got petrified... Is it triggered by eye contact? How the hell am I supposed to fight something I can't even look at?"
Without hesitation, he tossed a potion vial over his shoulder as he scrambled up the stairs, carrying Colin with him. A sharp crack of impact followed by a small explosion rang out, and a pained hiss echoed through the hallway behind him.
Vincent sprinted up the stairwell, casting quick glances over his shoulder to make sure nothing was following. Only when he was certain that he was in the clear did he stop, crouching to gently set Colin down on the floor.
"Good thing I bottled a vial of Thunderbolt Potion," Vincent thought grimly, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I need to thank Sister An for sending that pouch."
He examined the boy's petrified form, frowning. Colin was stiff and cold, his eyes wide open in frozen terror. Vincent didn't know how petrification works, so he didn't make any attempt to move the boy's limbs in fear of snapping one off, if that was even possible.
A sudden sound behind him made him whirl around, rod already in motion—only to stop it an inch from Dumbledore's neck.
They locked eyes for a tense heartbeat. Dumbledore, calm as ever, looked past Vincent toward Colin's petrified form, his expression darkening with concern.
"Headmaster, what on earth—?!" Professor McGonagall ran down the stairs before noticing Colin frozen in Vincent's arms.
"Minerva, assist me in helping Mr. Creevey to the hospital wing." Dumbledore said before turning to Vincent, "Vincent, go with Professor McGonagall, I need to check if the monster is still here."
"Yes, sir," Vincent said as he sheathed his rods and moved to help Professor McGonagall carry Colin—only for her to effortlessly levitate the boy with a flick of her wand. That left Vincent with little to do but walk alongside her in silence.
They made their way quietly through the halls toward the hospital wing. Once there, McGonagall gently lowered Colin onto an empty bed.
Vincent's eyes drifted to the cot beside him. Harry was lying still, breathing a bit too evenly—clearly pretending to be asleep. Vincent sighed, then turned his attention back to Colin.
The boy still clutched his melted camera, frozen mid-step. If Colin hadn't stepped forward when he did, Vincent was certain he would be the one lying petrified in that bed.
"...Thanks, Colin," Vincent muttered under his breath.
Moments later, Dumbledore strolled in with Madam Pomfrey who was in her nightgown with a cardigan pulled over it.
"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed.
"Another attack," said Dumbledore. "Minerva and I found him on the stairs with Mr. Wong here."
The three teachers turned to Vincent who was still looking at the boy.
"Would you tell us what happened?" Dumbledore asked kindly.
"I was doing some late-night reading when I saw Colin sneaking out—he was trying to visit Harry," Vincent said, noting the slight twitch from Harry at the edge of his vision. "I caught up to him by the stairs, but that's when the monster attacked. Colin managed to warn me just in time, but he was petrified before I could do anything."
Vincent took a breath, then added, "I only managed to escape because of the Thunderbolt Potion I brewed yesterday. I kept one vial for study and had it on me by chance. After that... I ran into Professor Dumbledore."
"Did you see the monster?" McGonagall asked hurriedly.
"Colin was petrified the moment he saw it," Vincent explained. "I didn't want to take any chances, so I avoided looking at it myself. If the monster can petrify someone with just a glance, then Colin basically saved my life. All I know for sure is that it was enormous."
The four of them stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned forward and wrenched the camera out of Colin's rigid grip.
"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" said Professor McGonagall eagerly.
Dumbledore opened the back of the camera.
"Good gracious!" said Madam Pomfrey.
Vincent winced as steam hissed from the remains of the camera. The acrid stench of burnt plastic filled the air, stinging his nose.
"Melted," Madam Pomfrey murmured in disbelief, turning the ruined device over in her hands. "All of it… completely melted."
"What does this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently.
"It means," Dumbledore said grimly, "that the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened. Again."
Vincent's brow furrowed at the word. Again?
What happened the last time?
"I'd advise Mr. Wong remain in the hospital wing tonight—if that's all right with you, Madam Pomfrey?" Dumbledore asked gently.
"Of course. He's lucky to be unharmed."
Before long, Vincent found himself lying on a bed next to Harry's.
"Vince, you okay?" Harry asked, concern in his voice.
"Yeah... all good," Vincent replied softly.
They sat in silence for a while until Harry suddenly heard a sharp crack—Vincent had struck the side table, splintering the corner.
"Damn it," he muttered, fists clenched. "I couldn't save him."
"It wasn't your fault," Harry said firmly, glancing over. "And you did save him—Colin's still alive because of you."
Vincent didn't reply at first. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken weight.
"...I'm heading to sleep," he finally said. "Night, Harry."
"...Night, Vince."
Vincent lay on his back; eyes fixed on the ceiling. Around him, the stillness settled—quiet, heavy, almost oppressive. He listened as Harry's breathing slowed, signaling sleep. Only then did Vincent's own eyes begin to grow heavy.
But even as he drifted off, the image of Colin's petrified body burned behind his eyelids—sharp, vivid, and painfully clear.