The door to the old cabin they shared was ajar. It was untouched, Draco’s book on his pillow, a sweater thrown across the bed where he’d flung it as he changed that night the Karathen hit the ship. The bed was still unmade from the day they departed, his clothes still in the drawers. She pulled open the top drawer in the lavatory, a single seasickness potion rolled around where he left it. She couldn’t help but smile at the realization that he must have pocketed his cologne when they left the ship, because it was not in the cabin. 