For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The road stretched empty behind him, the last sunlight hemorrhaging across the pavement in long shadows. He stood with hands tucked in his jacket pockets, watching me. Not casually. Like he was deciding something.
"You're not from around here," he said. Not a question.
"I… I'm fine." The lie was obvious—I was shaking, miles from anywhere, alone with dark coming fast.
One brow lifted slightly. "Right."
Heat rushed my face. I looked at the ground. "Just trying to get home."
His gaze tracked down the road behind me. "You walked all this way?"
I nodded.
He was quiet. Then he gestured toward the car. "I can give you a ride."
Every warning flashed through my head at once. Don't get in cars with strangers. Don't trust. Don't be stupid.
But the road behind me was empty. The sun was nearly gone. And something cold crawled down my spine at the thought of walking back alone. He noticed my hesitation.
"I'm not a serial killer," he said dryly.
Despite everything, a laugh escaped. "That's exactly what a serial killer would say."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Just slightly. Something softer passed over his face—there, then erased.
"I promise I won't murder you."
"Comforting."
He opened the passenger door. "Coming or not?"
I hesitated one second longer. Then I climbed in.
The door shut with a quiet click that echoed. He walked around, slid into the driver's seat, started the engine. The car pulled onto the road.
For a while, silence.
Only the engine's low hum, tires against asphalt. I stared out the window, trying to steady the mess inside me. Because something felt wrong. Not bad exactly. Just—familiar.
Not his voice. Not his words. Something deeper. Buried. A memory pressing against the inside of my skull, demanding entry.
"So," he said after a few minutes. "What were you doing running down an empty road?"
I hesitated. "Needed to get away from school."
"That bad?"
A humorless breath left me. "You have no idea."
He glanced at me briefly. "You go to Ravenwood High?"
My head turned sharply. "How did you know that?"
He shrugged. "Lucky guess."
Too easy. Too smooth.
I frowned. "Are you from around here?"
Pause.
"Something like that."
Streetlights flickered on as evening darkened. I found myself studying his profile—the line of his jaw, hair falling slightly over his eyes, the particular stillness in how he held himself. And suddenly my heart skipped.
No.
I looked away too fast.
Ridiculous. The person I was thinking of was gone. My parents had been explicit. Funeral, closed casket, promised.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I hadn't realized how quiet I'd gone. "Yeah." Too fast. Unconvincing.
Then: "So… Jade."
Everything inside me went still. Slowly, I turned my head. "I never told you my name."
He didn't look surprised. If anything, almost amused. For a moment, silence pooled between us. Then a soft sigh, like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
The car slowed slightly. Finally, he looked at me. Really looked. His eyes were darker now. Colder. Harder. But beneath all that—I saw it. Something achingly, impossibly known.
"Still slow, I see," he muttered.
My breath caught. That voice. That tone. Those exact words.
The memory hit all at once—summer afternoons, laughter in the sun, fingers laced together, promises whispered beneath stars.
My voice came out broken. "…Blake?"
Silence filled the car. He said nothing. Then a faint smirk touched his mouth, joyless and sharp.
"Miss me?"
My chest tightened so hard it hurt.
Because the boy beside me—the boy I'd grieved, been told was dead, thought I'd lost forever—was alive.
I shook my head slowly, as if that might force sense into any of this. "No… this can't be real."
But Blake didn't look relieved. Didn't look happy. Didn't look anything like the boy I remembered. His expression turned colder, if possible.
"You look disappointed," he said flatly.
"I'm not—" My voice cracked. "I'm not disappointed." I swallowed hard, forcing air back into my lungs. "I thought you were dead."
Blake's jaw tightened. "Yeah." His hands flexed once against the steering wheel. "I heard that story too."
The words settled heavily between us.
And just like that, every warm memory felt far away. Distant. Unreachable. Because the boy beside me wasn't the Blake I remembered.
And the way he looked at me now—
It was like I was the last person in the world he wanted to see.