“Creeping people out.” Lucas didn’t answer. He climbed the stairs. Shut his door. Laid down. But sleep wouldn’t come. There was something about Daniel—his voice, his eyes, the way he’d looked at his mom’s grave. Lucas couldn’t shake it. Was it just kindness? Or something else? He rolled onto his side and stared at the wall, trying to let go of the unease.
But it lingered, stubborn and strange. The next day, he returned to Emilia’s house. She was already outside, kneeling by the sidewalk, drawing sunbursts in pink chalk. She looked up as Lucas approached. “You came back!” she called, standing and brushing her hands on her jeans. Daniel stepped out from the porch behind her, drying his hands on a kitchen towel.