Nigel was polite, even when he was confused. And he had a right to be, Jonathan thought. They had never been introduced. Again, he wondered why they had come here.

But nearly opposite, Cris smiled kindly. "You do and you don't, but I'd like us to be friends, if you want."

Seemingly fed up with holding the plant, Jon walked forward to place it on the low table nearby. He turned, shifting a hand through his hair. "We were the ones who found you. After everything that happened. You and the red-haired one." The white one--Alan--had vanished, found later, they read. What they couldn't know was that the red-head took off as well, but full of guilt, returned later, to find Nigel a mess from what had happened. Cris and Jon came in response to the gunshots in screams after calling the police, and found Nigel bleeding and unconscious, and his brother--what was his name?--sobbing over him.

It was a horrible situation for children to be in. Harbingers of a tumultuous fate.

"We're your neighbors," Cris went on, in a tone unjudging and only supportive. "If you need anything, I want you to let us know. All right?"