"Hello, James." My voice came out softer than I intended, my palms growing clammy as he stepped closer. Instinctively, I shoved my hands beneath me, hoping he wouldn't notice how flustered he made me.

He gave a brief, polite smile—tight-lipped and formal. "I didn't mean to disturb you," he said, his tone calm, though there was something beneath it I couldn't quite place. "But I've apparently become Pretoria's courier."

The unfamiliar word caught me off guard, but its meaning became clear as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, the white stark against the dark fabric.

He extended it toward me, and I instinctively moved to take it—only to realize my hands were still trapped beneath me. Embarrassment washed over me as I awkwardly shifted, wrestling with

my body weight to free my arms. My cheeks burned as I finally grabbed the letter, praying he didn't notice my fumbling.

"Thanks," I muttered, my voice cracking slightly.

James didn't reply immediately, but he let out a soft huff, glancing around the spot where I sat. His presence was unsettling—not in a bad way, but in a way that made me hyper-aware of myself, like I didn't know what to do with my own limbs.

I unfolded the letter carefully, feeling the delicate texture of the paper beneath my fingers.

Dear sweet girl,

It was a shame we couldn't spend more time together the other day, but don't worry—I'll make sure we do. Be patient.

With much love,

Pretoria.

I squinted, focusing on the words I recognized. My reading wasn't perfect, but I understood enough. The letter was vague and unsettling. Before I could think too much about it, James's voice broke into my thoughts.

"I went back through the papers from a few months ago," he said, his voice steady but probing. "I believed you when you said you were the girl recovered from the fire... but I had to confirm it."

His gaze locked onto mine, searching, as if he was looking for something beneath the surface. A chill ran through me. There was a shift in his expression, something unguarded—almost vulnerable—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"So," he continued, eyes lowering, avoiding mine, "do you remember anything? About where you're from?"

My heart quickened at the question.

In truth, my memories were fragments, broken pieces I didn't want to fit together. Just thinking about it stirred something dark, something I wasn't ready to face.

I shook my head. "No. Aside from my age, I don't remember much."

His eyes narrowed slightly, though his face stayed composed, as though he'd expected that answer.

"How old are you?" His voice was softer now, smooth in a way that made my stomach flutter.

"About twenty-two... give or take a year," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He hummed thoughtfully. "That makes sense. You don't look like a teenager."

I frowned at that, blurting, "Do I look old?"

A flicker of something unguarded passed over his face, almost shy, but he quickly composed himself. "No, you don't look old. I meant... you look mature."

I was about to ask what "mature" meant, but James's phone rang before I could get the words out.

He looked at the phone's caller, and shapely inhaled, "I'm sorry, I have to take this."

His voice clipped as he answered the call and quickly moved away. He walked briskly to the grave, tossing the flowers there without ceremony, then headed to his car.

"That's the most I've ever heard him speak in one sitting," came a voice from behind.

I jumped, almost choking on the air caught in my throat. Ben was leaning casually against the wall beside me, a smug grin on his face. "How long have you been standing there?" I managed to ask, still recovering from the surprise.

He chuckled at my near heart-attack. "Long enough to see you drooling over Mr. Thomas."

My heart skipped a beat. No, he couldn't have seen that. I wasn't that obvious, was I?

Seeing the panic on my face, Ben walked over and gave me a playful pat on the back, his hand heavy enough to make me stumble a bit. "Breathe, miss. I'm joking."

I felt my face flush with embarrassment, though I wasn't sure why. I inhaled deeply, trying to shake off the flustered feeling. "I guess it's time to go home, then?" I asked, glancing up at the sky where the sun was now high and bright.

Ben dangled his keys in front of me, wiggling them with a grin. "Yep. We've got to go pick up Cassandra."

We started walking toward the car, the quiet between us broken only by the sound of gravel crunching underfoot. It was a peaceful, easy silence, the kind that comes when you've known someone long enough not to feel the need to fill the gaps with words. But just as I thought the quiet would stretch all the way to the car, Ben broke it.

"You know," he began, his tone light but thoughtful, "you're getting better at talking to people. Even if Mr.Thomas rattles you a bit, he rattles everyone."

I blinked, glancing sideways at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, fiddling with his keys. "I've been watching you. A few months ago, you'd barely say a word to anyone. Now you're making conversation. Asking questions. You don't give yourself enough credit."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Compliments from Ben were rare and often felt like they came out of nowhere, but when they did, they stuck. I let his words hang in the air between us for a moment before finally muttering, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He unlocked the car, and we both climbed in. He cranked up the engine, and we were off, the hum of the tires filling the space between us once more.

We continued on, the sun casting long shadows on the road ahead of us. When we finally neared the spot where we were supposed to pick up Cassandra, the sight that greeted us was... unexpected.

"Gross," I muttered.

Ben followed his gaze and his eyes widened. Cassandra was pressed up against some guy, their faces practically glued together, his hand sliding up her shirt. Staring at them, my curiosity got the better of me, even as the scene felt painfully awkward.

Before I could see what happened next, a hand clamped over my eyes, blocking my view. I heard the loud honk of the car horn.

"That is not something you need to see," Ben said, his voice firm but amused.

I could still hear the giggles from Cassandra and her companion. Ben let go of my head as soon as Cassandra opened the back door and climbed into the car, completely unfazed by the fact that we'd just witnessed her make-out session.

"Bye! See you tomorrow!" she called out to the guy through the window, her lips puffy and her expression calm as if nothing had happened.

Ben, ever the gentleman, cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the road. "So, disregarding that last scene... how was your day?"

His politeness in the most uncomfortable situations always surprised me.

I shrugged, trying to hide my lingering discomfort. "It was school, so... absolute hell. Add in the whole high-school clique thing, and yeah, it's not exactly fun trying to fit in when you're the new kid this late in the year."

Ben nodded, offering me a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure you'll find your place soon enough."

Most of what she said fell into the category of unknown words, so I didn't follow much of Cassandra's chatter. She stretched lazily in her seat, her movements as casual as her question. "How was your day?" Her tone was flat, mechanical—more a formality than genuine interest.

I decided to play along, if only to poke at her a little. "I was told I look old."

Ben immediately jumped in, his voice teasing. "Are you really going to say that with me sitting right here?" He gestured to his own face with exaggerated offense. "If you look old, I'm scared to even ask what I look like now."

His playful expression broke through my mood, and I couldn't help but smile. I laughed, more at his theatrics than at the comment itself.

Cassandra leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "How old are you anyway? Like, eighteen?"

I blinked, unsure of whether that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment. Did I look old or young? I wasn't sure what anyone really saw when they looked at me.

Shaking my head, I answered, "No, I'm around twenty-two."

Her eyes widened, and she stared at me as if I'd just said I was ancient. "Damn, you're like a whole adult."

I shrugged. Was I? I certainly didn't feel like one, whatever that was supposed to mean.

As Ben started the car, i felt the drift of the vehicle and fell into my own thoughts,

The way James had looked at me, the way his voice dropped when he asked if I remembered where I came from—it was as if he knew something I didn't.

I sighed, resting my head against the car window as we sped down the road. My hands still felt a little clammy from earlier and my stomach still very fluttery.