Miranda asked if he believed her brother had been murdered for his policies but Balfour could only turn his palms up, gently shrugging. It wasn't for him to say and he did not see how it would help her if he tried to speculate. She was clearly trying to get a hold of her emotions - as someone who often needed to control his own, he sympathised when she upped and left the room altogether. Grief was fickle and did not play by any kind of rulebook: it simply demanded what was necessary.

He remembered, briefly, when Johann had disappeared shortly after Wolfgang's death. All the way to Slandermouth.

            “Give her a moment.”

Balfour nodded unthinkingly and looked down at the cigarette pack in his hands. He shook out a stick, lighting it with his wand while Ignan took a turn at asking questions now. "Relatively quick," he answered from his knowledge of what two had managed to relay when he stopped by earlier. "As far as they can tell, he tried to flee but..."

The Scotsman took a drag and shook his head. "Don't think there was time to act either way. It-- sorry," an apologetic glance at the older wizard. "He was found in his study."

What was left of Alec Carter had been discovered in the study, anyway. Balfour possessed no desire to ever see those crime scene photographs; the descriptions alone had been more than enough. Dead bodies were not unfamiliar to him - you saw all manner of them, mauled and devoured and desecrated by beasts - but nobody should want to see one without purpose. To have that in their minds, to hold for the rest of their lives.

"If there's anything Johann or I can do, Ignan..." Bal offered, not sure what else to say in a professional capacity.

Small mercy, then. In time, Miranda might wish to know those grisly details, what with her professional interest. Then again, it might just be too close to home. It wouldn’t be an open casket. There would probably not be enough of him to say goodbye to.

A silence fell between the two wizards, Balfour smoking, Ignan stood with arms braced against the top of one of the armchairs, pale eyes staring out of the back window. Miranda’s cigarette smoke occasionally passed the glass.

“If there’s anything Johann or I can do, Ignan…”

It took a moment for the older man to react, but when he did, it was decisive.
“No, you’ve extended a kindness coming to tell her in person.” Ignan assured his future relative by marriage. “Thank you for going out of your way.” There was no easy way to break such news, but there were a hundred ways to break it badly and Balfour had at least avoided those.

Apparent that Miranda would not be returning in the near future, and hot tea supped, Ignan saw Spectre out of the front door. He could find no words of comfort for Miranda, nor did he imagine she would want to hear them. Instead, he hoped his presence, and lack of intention to run despite her parting comment, was some comfort in her shock, as they held each other in the January chill.

End