Bellatrix made her decision.
"Go."
She hissed, her voice low and hoarse.
Selwyn, Crabbe, and Nott followed behind her, hurrying away from the gray stone house. No one looked back. No one dared to. The town bells were still ringing, shrill and urgent.
On the hill, Voldemort stood watching the gray house, watching the four bedraggled figures flee from it. His expression did not change. He merely shook his head slightly.
"Still not enough," he murmured, a faint disappointment in his voice.
He did not wait for Bellatrix and the others to return. He simply turned into a streak of black smoke and vanished beyond the horizon.
Inside the gray stone house, Grindelwald stood before the shattered fireplace, looking out at the sky beyond the window as it gradually brightened. Sunlight pierced the clouds, spilling over the town's stone houses, over the distant hill, over that hill now devoid of anyone.
"He still didn't come," she said softly, with a trace of disappointment in her voice.
Ian emerged from the shadows and walked to her side, looking out the window as well. There was no disappointment in those deep eyes, no anger—only a faint, almost tranquil understanding.
"He's even more cowardly than we thought," Grindelwald continued. "He doesn't even dare send a mere avatar."
Ian shook his head. "It's not cowardice." His voice was calm and composed. "It's caution. He has no Horcruxes left. He only has this one life. He can't afford to lose."
Grindelwald fell silent for several seconds, then let out a soft sigh.
"Perhaps."
Ian withdrew his gaze and turned toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Grindelwald asked.
Ian did not look back. "To do what I should do."
His body began to change—not a transformation, not an illusion, but something more fundamental, more natural.