“Thanks for this.” Jack mumbled, his face as emotionless and stoic as ever. He was a delicate boy. He simply hated showing it.

Grief transformed his face as you finished cleaning his parents’ graves. John and Abigail Marston. He shifted his stance, the hat he donned now flush to his chest. He glanced over the now pristine gravestones.

The words of comfort you wanted to offer scratched at your throat, attempting to escape. But you remained silent.