I swallowed against it, forcing the thought down before it could take hold any further. Knowing that if I let myself linger there, even for a second longer, I wouldn’t be entirely sure I’d be able to keep going.
So instead, I focused on where I was.
Cold air brushed faintly against my skin, carrying with it the distant hum of traffic and the low murmur of voices that felt weirdly normal.Too normal.
My gaze lifted slowly, almost cautiously, as though I wasn’t entirely convinced the world around me wouldn’t shift again if I moved too quickly.
But it didn’t.
Instead, what I saw only made my brows draw together in quiet confusion. A building stood before me, large and imposing in a way that felt entirely out of place with everything I had just come from. Old stone rose high above street level, worn slightly with age but still solid and still commanding in its presence. The kind of structure that had clearly been built to last rather than impress. Ornate detailing framed tall windows that stretched up toward the upper floors. While thick columns flanked the entrance, their surfaces were carved with the kind of craftsmanship that spoke of a time when things had been made to endure rather than simply exist.
And above it all, etched deep into the stone in bold, unmissable lettering,
BANK.
I stared at it for a second longer than necessary, my thoughts still catching up with what my eyes were seeing as the disconnect settled in.
“A bank?” I said under my breath, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My voice edged with quiet disbelief as I glanced toward where Bo stood beside me, unseen by everyone else passing by without a second glance.
“You’ve brought me to a bank.”
No one reacted, but what’s more, no one even looked.
People moved past us on the pavement as though nothing had happened, as though two people hadn’t just appeared out of thin air in the middle of the street. A couple walked by mid-conversation, a man brushed past with his phone pressed to his ear, completely unaware of how impossible that should have been.
Bo, of course, sounded entirely unbothered.
“Not just a bank,” he replied lightly, his tone carrying that same irritating calm that suggested he already knew exactly what I was looking at, even if I didn’t.
“And try not to sound so disappointed.”
“Why, are you gonna tell me your name is Gringotts and that we're currently standing in Diagon Alley?” I asked, making him frown, something that drew his bushy brows tightly together.
“What in the depths of lust are you talking about?” I rolled my eyes and said,
“Holy Goddess, I have got to educate you, so here’s the deal, we survive this, and the next time we order pizza it will be whilst doing a Harry Potter marathon,” I promised, making him ask,
“Who’s Harry Pothead?” I groaned, a sigh and repeated,
“Potter, not Pothead.”
“Oh yeah, that sounds way better… What is he, a gardener?” I released a frustrated sigh and suggested we get back on track.
“The Bank, Bo, why are we at a bank?”
“Well, it sure as shit isn’t to make a deposit… come on, and don’t worry, I don’t intend to rob the joint,” he said now walkingtowards the building and leaving me no choice but to follow. I also couldn’t help but wonder where in the world were we?
The heavy wooden doors at the entrance had been restored rather than replaced, maintaining the old-world character that defined the rest of the building. Pale gray stone blocks rose around them, worn just enough to reveal their age, while tall, paneled windows stretched upward, adding to the sense that this place belonged to a time long before the modern world.
I exhaled slowly, pushing away the last remnants of hesitation as I stepped forward, drawn toward the entrance despite myself. The doors gave way easily beneath my hand, and the moment I crossed the threshold, the world shifted again.
The air changed first, warmer, softer even. It carried the faint hum of conversation, the distant clink of glass, and the low murmur of music that felt entirely too normal after everything that had just happened. Which was when it hit me, it wasn’t a bank at all.
It was a hotel.
Polished marble floors stretched out beneath my feet, gleaming softly under warm, golden lighting that reflected off brass fixtures and dark wood accents. Everything about it had been carefully designed to feel expensive without needing to say it outright. There was a quiet kind of elegance to the space. The kind that suggested money had been spent not just on how it looked, but on how it felt to exist within it.
People moved through it easily, unbothered, dressed in everything from tailored suits to casual designer weekend wear. Their conversations blended into that same low, indistinct hum as they passed one another without a second thought.
