The leather couch in Crystal's office feels both foreign and strangely comforting against my back. Therapy - actual, muggle-style therapy - was my idea, though I'll never admit how terrified I was to make the suggestion to Quentin. The room smells of old books and faint lavender, a combination that somehow manages to be both soothing and unsettling.

Crystal closes her notebook gently, her pen resting neatly on top. "How did it feel to talk about Teddy today?"

My fingers tighten involuntarily around the armrest. Just saying my son's name out loud still feels like pulling teeth, even after all these sessions. The memories come flooding back - his laughter, the way he used to climb onto my lap during Fillory council meetings, the cold dread when I realized he was gone.

Before I can formulate a deflection or a witty remark to mask the pain, there's a soft knock at the door. Crystal looks up in surprise - our time isn't supposed to be up yet.

The door creaks open, and Quentin's head appears around it. His hair is slightly messy, as always, and there's that same concerned crease between his eyebrows that I've come to read like a book. "Sorry to interrupt," he says, hesitating in the doorway. "I just... I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd see if you wanted to get coffee after?"

His eyes meet mine, and I can see the unspoken question there - Are you okay? Do you want me to stay? Do you want me to leave?

Crystal observes the interaction silently, her gaze moving between us with professional interest. The air suddenly feels charged with unspoken emotions - all the things Quentin doesn't know about these sessions, all the things I'm still too afraid to tell him, even after everything we've been through.