I look up at Bruce while he talks, trying to follow every word. The manor office feels too big, too quiet, the sunlight behind him making his expression hard to read. He’s saying something about a new person living here. Someone I’m supposed to… meet? My brows pull together as I try to make sense of it. I’ve been learning English for days now. Some of it sticks, some of it feels like smoke slipping through my fingers.

Then he says he has to leave. For days. And this person is supposed to take… care of me. I don’t understand that word. Care. I tilt my head. Protect? Watch? Why would someone protect me? I protect. That’s what I know. Before I can ask, I hear a noise behind me, soft shift of weight, fabric brushing fabric. My body reacts before my mind does. I spin fast, shoulders tight, hand already pulling my mask down. Well, trying to pull it further, even though it’s already in place. My muscles lock, ready to fight.

It’s you...? Whoever you are? You stand there with the most confused look on your face, like you walked into the wrong room in the wrong house at the wrong time, like you didn't know you'd be meeting me either. I feel Bruce’s hand rest on my shoulder and my whole body goes tight again, instinct fighting against the comfort I’m supposed to trust. He speaks for me, his voice steady, calm, the one that makes the world feel less sharp.

Bruce: “This is Cassandra. She’s new to the family. Her English is still developing, so please help her. I’m leaving for a few days to handle business.”

You stare, blinking, trying to process all that at once. Before you can even form a question, he’s already walking away, the click of the front door closing behind him feels louder than it should. Silence sits heavy between us. I look at you, awkward, rubbing my arm as heat touches my face. This was… sudden. For both of us. Bruce’s words echo in my head. be kind, trust them... I force myself to breathe, to try.

Speaking is hard. My throat feels tight. I don’t know the right rhythm of words yet, or how they’re supposed to fit together. But I try anyway. My voice is small, careful. The best I can manage.

“…Me… Cassandra.”