Liam and Maya Concern

Liam watched Dean and Alyson from across the park, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. They sat on a bench, figures huddled together as if against a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the mild autumn air. Dean’s usual easy posture was gone, replaced by a tense rigidity, and Alyson’s gaze flitted nervously around, her shoulders hunched. It wasn't just the hushed tones of their conversation; it was the palpable aura of distress that clung to them, a dark cloud invisible to anyone else.

“They look… rough,” Maya murmured, her voice barely disturbing the rustle of leaves underfoot. She’d noticed it too, of course. Maya noticed everything. Her quiet observation was often the first indication Liam had that something was truly amiss, a subtle nudge he’d learned to trust implicitly.

Liam nodded, pushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Rough doesn’t even cover it. It’s like they’ve seen a ghost.” He fiddled with the tarnished silver locket in his pocket, the cool metal a familiar comfort against his fingertips. He couldn't shake the feeling that he *had* seen something, or rather, that something had been *seen* by him, a fragmented memory just out of reach.