CHAPTER ELEVEN —

— THE FUNERAL. 

ON THE DAY OF KILLIAN BLACKWELL'S FUNERAL, the sky was bone dry and gray, a stark juxtaposition to the weeping clouds from his wife's burial. But it felt fitting. Where Delaney Winters-Blackwell was a woman who deserved to be mourned by the entire universe, her late other half had earned the stoic, stony December sky. He didn't deserve to be cried over.

Kate certainly wasn't gonna shed a tear.

The rest of New York City, however, hadn't gotten the 'piece-of-crap-dad' memo though. The show out to the funeral was huge. And while Kate knew almost all of the people there didn't really know or care about the man, it still stung, seeing thousands of people flock to show love for a man who had never loved.

Most people had cameras, or a microphone, or both. Everyone had crocodile tears whenever the spotlight was on them. Everyone played the mourning, grateful citizen for a story or a spot of gossip. Kate half-wondered if her father had specially requested such a huge media presence for the day — and if that was true, which it probably was, why.

"I mean, not like he'd be freakin' alive to see it," she muttered bitterly to herself. "But t'each their own."

Outside of the hundreds of strangers looking for a scoop, there were very few people there Kate recognized. Mariana and Tim stood outside of the crowd, whispering with each other. Neither looked terribly upset, but they both had at least dressed the part. Mariana looked more like the sister Kate remembered in black. 

There was also Cecilia, a few paces away, and a few other office staff she vaguely recognised.  Killian's business partner, Archibald Du Pont stood nearby; snobby and tall. Some other people attached to Blackwell Corp. All of them assholes, all of them there just to say they were there.

It was like night and day, compared to her mother's funeral. That had been a small, quiet service with bowed heads and pouring rain and only one set of dry eyes. Kate had known everyone that was there, and the only vultures had come after she left the cemetery. Nothing like the mass-media event arranged. And everyone had cried over Delaney. Sure, half of them were also muttering about the supposed alcohol problem that ended her life (a lie Kate still hadn't been able to prove wrong) but at least they seemed sad.

A memory sparked as Kate thought about that day. She remembered her uncle's infamous words, just a few weeks prior, how Jaspar had alluded to Delaney's funeral. And he had been there, though young Kate didn't know why or who he actually was. He had longer hair back then, too, she was pretty sure, but still the same Addams family-esque style. And he, like many others, had been sobbing as Delaney was lowered into the ground. He stayed in the back, crying into a black lace handkerchief. But, there was a moment when tried to come to the front, before —

— yes, Kate mused to herself, before dear old pops stopped him. The fight. She remembered the pair arguing now, too, though as a kid it hadn't made sense to her why her father was fighting with some random man. When Killian stopped Jaspar, the latter became irate and got physical immediately. He'd gotten in a few good blows, too. Gave Killian a wicked shiner. What a day.

Kate looked around curiously, but Jaspar Byrne was nowhere to be seen. Strange. She knew they weren't on great terms, but he had made the effort to come back into Killian's life again. Very recently. Weren't they trying to fix their relationship? Wouldn't Jaspar want to be here?

Unless — 

— no. Kate swallowed back the crazy idea before she could even begin to entertain it. It's not him, she reassured herself, Jaspar is definitely not a killer. Even if timeline wise, it's a little suspicious...but it's just coincidence. Probably. Right? There's no way. Right?!

The detective side of her mind stayed pointedly quiet, much to Kate's annoyance. Karma Kane didn't seem to have a take on Jaspar's absence — and Kate didn't have enough evidence to make her own conclusion, for either side.

She fidgeted with her fingers and looked around again. But he was definitely not anywhere to be seen. If Jaspar was invited to the funeral, he didn't care to show, clearly.

Or he couldn't show. For whatever reason. Doesn't have to be nefarious. Could just be —

"—shut up, me," Kate muttered to herself, massaging her aching temples. "Not right now."

Solving a murder could wait. Thinking and cameras flashing everywhere around her was giving her a headache, and Kate would rather get unhinged about her father's death alone, thank you very much.

Still, her curiosity remained slightly piqued. Kate's eyes continued to skirt over the crowd, before stopping short at a strange sight. 

Scratch what she thought about no tears. A strange woman stood a couple feet away from the closed casket, weeping. Kate had never seen her before — she would definitely remember a woman like that. She was gorgeous in every sense of the word. Tall, honey-blonde, draped in fluffy black furs and silk to her toes. She had an old Hollywood mystique about her, with elegance dripping off her slim figure. And she looked incredibly out of place amongst the grey-toned, cold-hearted strangers. Unlike all the other blank-faced suits and slobbering paparazzies, this stranger seemed to genuinely care about this funeral. Her eyes were covered in a short net veil, but Kate could see the convulsing shoulders clearly, and watched as she continued to dab at her hidden face with tissues upon tissues slipped from her tiny bag.

The stranger seemed absolutely heartbroken about Killian Blackwell's death. That wasn't something Kate thought was possible, and it both confounded and concerned her. Forgoing her hesitation about pursuing mystery, Kate stared at the woman from across the cemetery and wondered just who in the hell she could be.

An ex-lover? She wondered to herself, surveying the woman's shaking form. Not that I could imagine dear old father in a meaningful relationship, but maybe the connection was one-sided. She got more attached than him. Definitely not a friend; he didn't have those. I didn't see her face on the Blackwell website, so she isn't a business partner... 

Kate wanted to be bold and just ask; didn't she deserve that? It was her father's funeral, she could probably utilise some sort of grief to get what she wanted. And it seemed at least more entertaining to play detective with the honey-blonde stranger than stand and stare at where they lowered her father. Pretending to be sad wasn't exactly incredible fun. This woman would at least be something interesting.

But before she could make up her mind about the stranger — and whether or not a direct approach was smart — someone else cut in.

"Katherine."

Kate whipped around to see a tall, stern figure she did recognise approaching. Archibald Du Pont took sharp strides towards her, pausing about a foot away and towering. He wore a careful, practiced smile; she recognised it as the diplomatic fake her father used to wear. Just like his perfectly pressed, all-black suit with perfect, pointed pleats, he performed it with poisonous precision.

Kate had only had the misfortune of meeting Archibald a handful of times, but every time, she was left with a sick feeling in her mouth and the sense of inadequacy. He wasn't a pleasant fellow to be around — and she wasn't eager to do so, now.

"I wanted to extend my sorrows, Katherine," Archibald greeted sharply. At least he didn't call her 'Katie'. "I'm truly sorry for your loss. Your father was a great man."

She tucked her hands up into her heavy black coat, wrapping them in the fabric of her shirt sleeves. "Thanks," she said, not sure what else to say.

"I truly feel for you, my dear," Archibald said with no emotion in his voice. "To lose a father so young is a burden no one deserves. I imagine these past weeks have been very difficult on you."

"I'll be okay," Kate told him quietly.

"To be sure. You have your father's brain, and I know too well he excelled at striding towards the future. But, there is a lot resting on your small shoulders now. A lot of very demanding articles. I don't want you to be overwhelmed."

Kate frowned, "I don't...what are you talking about?"

"Your father's will, of course. His decision to leave his assets with you." 

Oh yeah, Kate, how could you fucking forget that? Karma's voice mocked, echoing in Kate's brain. 

The will reading had been a blur. She barely processed the words that left the tiny old lady in her humongous desk chair, stuck on the fact that she looked like a 90s movie villain. Kate only realised that all of her father's money was for some reason hers when they got home, and Mariana said with a twisted expression, "I guess I wouldn't want his blood money anyways" to Tim, thinking Kate wasn't listening. Obviously, she thought she was getting more than nothing. She wasn't expecting just one name in the will.

Kate wanted to scream, "just take it all" at her sister. She didn't want the stupid money. She didn't want any of it. No lays to his dirty company when she turned 21, no haunted mansions, no random "assets". She'd burn it all if she could! 

And she also couldn't quite figure out why Killian had left everything to her, and only her — because again, she didn't want a single cent. So, why?!

"Did you have a question?" Kate finally asked, bristling in her thick wool coat. The wind was picking up, and it brought a strange sense of dread, standing in front of her father's ex-partner in crime. 

Archibald smiled wide, revealing glinting gold teeth at the back of his mouth. "Not a question, dear. Just wanted to extend the offer of counsel. I know you've got quite a way until you're vying for charge, but it's a lot to put on a young girl's shoulders. I imagine you'd rather focus on boys and parties than the cold grit of adulthood."

Well, that couldn't have been more patronizing. 

"I think I'll be alright," she said, a little bit more firmly. "Like you said. I've got 'quite a way' until you have to worry about me at Blackwell Corp." Hopefully forever. Never gonna step a toe in his weird business. "Right?"

The man's face crumpled into irritation for a split-second, so fast she almost missed it. Immediately after, he perfectly re-composed his expression to cordiality, and dipped his chin. "Of course. You are quite right. But, my offer will still stand when it may be needed."

"Thank you," Kate said, sounding anything but grateful. "I appreciate your caution, Sir."

Archibald nodded again, smiled coldly, and took his leave.

Kate looked back behind her — but when she did, she found that the mysterious blonde stranger was nowhere to be seen. Like she had completely disappeared into thin air.

"Shit," she cursed to herself. She scanned the rows of heads, but didn't see the woman anywhere. "C'mon, Blackwell, she couldn't'a gotten far, you just have to—"

"—there you are!"

Really? Thanks, universe, for always having my back.

Gone was her chance to escape and find the stranger. Mariana and her placid husband approached too fast; they loomed in like sharks eager to taste their prey. They both smiled too wide for the appropriate occasion, and they both had arms locked around the other, like any second one might blow away.

Kate wanted to puke.

"We were worried you'd snuck off somewhere," her sister cooed, "it's so hard to see through the sea of black."

"Not that we'd blame you, 'course."

"Oh, 'course not. This kind of thing takes a toll."

Tim and Mariana both nodded sagely, fully in agreement with each other's unnecessary points.

When Kate didn't say anything to them, the couple shuffled awkwardly, exchanging looks of 'what do we do now?!' like new parents looking at their screaming baby. Which wasn't a fun feeling on Kate's part. She felt like a project, something to mould and fix. And she wanted, very desperately, to escape that.

Someone drop a piano on my head. Now, please.

Mariana leaned further into her husband. "We figured we'd end the night peacefully, or at least try to. What do you think of a movie night? We can forget about reality for a while."

"I'm good."

Mariana tilted her head, giving Kate puppy-dog eyes against her husband's shoulder. "Ah, c'mon. It'd be fun! We never got to finish the Terminator series."

"I wonder why," Kate said before she could think.

Her sister's face fell.

Before Mariana could speak for herself, placid, perfect Tim butted in. "I think what your sister means, Kate, is that we should take this time to be there for each other as a family. We need to walk through our emotions gently, here, and I think a distraction would be a nice start."

Walk gently?! Nope. Kate was going to bolt from her emotions like she was in the zombie apocalypse, running for her life. And Mariana, Tim, Killian, all the untied ends and broken strings of her life can stay far away, so she could do what she has to: to figure out the truth.

"I — no," Kate said awkwardly, twisting her fingers in her coat pockets. "I'm not doing that."

"Kate, please. I think we just need to—"

"I—I need to go," she interrupted. "Now. I need to go now."

"Go? Go where?"

Not a word was wasted on an answer. Without thinking or looking back, Kate swivelled on the cold, dead grass and started fast-walking away. Her pace quickened, her steps grew longer and longer and faster until she was practically bolting from the private cemetery, no longer caring about anyone around her for any reason at all.

She didn't have a plan, she didn't really know where she was or where she was going — just that she couldn't stay there anymore. The air was suffocating and the crowd of unsympathetic, power-hungry trolls were going to make her sick. And Mariana and Tim might be worse. She had to get out of there.

So she ran.

AFTER ABOUT FORTY-FIVE MINUTES OR SO of half-running, half-stumbling in her heeled loafers, Kate found herself in a large park. She didn't recognise her surroundings, but it was peaceful and mostly empty, so she slowed her pace and finally took in a large gulp of oxygen.

Finally, she could breathe air that wasn't a million times recycled and tension infused. She rested her hands on her knees and continued gasping, heaving in large breathes like she wouldn't get a chance to again.

"Loser," Kate panted in between puffs of air, "so...out of...shape..."

She squinted hazily at her surroundings. There was a distinct lack of screams and camera flashes, which was nice, but —

"Pretty sure you're lost now, too," Kate grumbled, scanning the area. She definitely didn't recognise where she was. That didn't say a lot, considering she rarely went places she hadn't known since she was five, but it definitely wasn't in the New York City she was used to. It was a small park, and around it sat tiny, busy, older-looking shops a dime a dozen. Nothing she recognised.

She looked back from where she came. Going back definitely wasn't appealing. She could call a driver, but she didn't want to just go back to the ghost house. Being around Mariana and Tim sounded suffocating. Honestly, being around anyone kind of did.

Karma Kane went wherever she wanted, whenever, without a care where it led her. So, why couldn't Kate Blackwell?

Determined, she started walking.

It was a pretty good park, as far as things went. Paved walkways, lots of grass that was probably green when it wasn't bitingly cold. In the summer, it was probably a nice place to be. She could imagine little kids playing tag with their parents, clusters of dogs all mingling as their owners watched on, a first date walk through the trails, blushing and wondering where the afternoon would take them. There was a small, kind of sad looking fountain in the distance, and a couple of benches with plaques on them, dedicated to people she'd probably never know.

"Wonder what this place is," Kate mused, glancing around for a sign. "Not that it matters, but..." her eyes didn't catch on anything but the white of snow and the brown of slushy earth. "Oh well. Whatever."

She continued wandering, ignoring the nip of cold at her fingers and toes. It was a welcome change; it meant she could still feel, and something other than a swarm of emotions being shoved down into her gut, ignored. There was a part of her that wondered why she hadn't tried to do this more often. 

Course, the other part of her knew why. She was terrified of the real world, which is why playing pretend was so appealing: Kate Blackwell didn't know how to walk around parks aimlessly, or order coffee like a normal New Yorker. She knew how to attend house parties thrown in mansions and visit museums for public appearance sake and she knew where to shop to look the most privileged, but life wasn't something she knew how to do.

Which was kind of sad. Kind of really sad.

In a stupid way, in a really privleged, spoiled brat kinda way, but still sad. Wasn't it?

As her frazzled mind derailed and picked at the lack of life she had lived, Kate's eyes caught on something.

A small way away was a boy with a camera, crouched with a knee on the grass. His wavy brown hair fluttered in the wind blowing through the park, and every other minute a hand reached up to push it out of his eyes. Of course, it was pointless every time, because the second his hand went back to his camera the wind blew his bangs over his eyes, but the boy seemed set on fighting against the weather, even if it was a losing game.

His gaze was pinned on a pair of squirrels, Kate realised, which were frolicking in the dying grass under bare trees. They kept circling one another, and chasing one until the other turned and became the chaser. And the boy watched them closely through his camera lens with a soft half-smile. He seemed completely content in watching the two squirrels, like there was nothing else in the world that really mattered. 

Kate hadn't ever seen Peter Parker outside of brief glimpses in school, but watching him watch squirrels in a park on a Wednesday afternoon made complete sense, somehow. He looked at peace and content with such a boring ordeal. Her soul ached, wondering how the hell someone could just exist like that.

She suddenly wanted to storm over to Peter Parker and demand some answers. Pry his secrets out and run away with them, leave him bleeding in favour for her broken heart. Crack him open and figure out how someone just lives a completely normal, happy life, because honestly it must be some insane secret, and one she wanted. Desperately. 

Kate stuffed her hands in her coat pockets, but it did little to warm her numb fingertips. She looked around the park again. There weren't many people around. A pair of older women wandering at the far edge of the trees, a mother and their child walking down the path Kate had ran up. And Peter Parker. An unknown, and a fascinating one, who was spending his Wednesday with squirrels, alone.

Before she could think about it or stop herself, Kate's feet started moving, and her body was carried fast down the walkway towards the boy. She almost ran at him, hurrying until she was finally able to brake a couple feet away.

What the hell are you doing, Blackwell, what are you DOING you —

"—hey!"

At once, the boy froze. Slowly, his hands fell from his face, and he lifted awkwardly from his crouched position. He half-squinted at her with a look of shock and confusion.

"Oh," Peter said slowly, like he wasn't sure if she was really talking to him. "Uh, h-hi, Kate."

Kate's fingers twisted around her pocket insides, over and over. Being outside was no longer fun. Her short burst of adrenaline died as quickly as it had come, leaving her awkwardly rocking on her heels, wondering what she was doing, and why she didn't just have a mental breakdown alone in her room like normal people?! 

And why was she bothering Peter freakin' Parker, for no reason? 

"You...I didn't know you were into photography."

Peter's eyes moved from her to his camera, then back up again. "Uh, yeah. I am. Kind of. Not really. Like, it's just — it's just a hobby, m'not even that good, it's just like — uh. Yeah."

She wondered if he was always this nervous, or if it was just her that made him uncomfortable. She also wondered if she should just nod and walk away, spare the poor guy from this conversation he probably didn't want any part of. Peter was a china shop and Kate felt like a bull, smashing all his peace to bits. And that didn't seem fair.

But Kate continued speaking, for some unknown reason. "Are the pictures for school?"

"Uh, no. Just for me."

She nodded and looked over to where the squirrels were still playing with one another. "Do you come here a lot?"

"Sometimes. Yeah. Not — not always. Just when I want some fresh air." Peter looked around, waving his free hand awkwardly at the trees. "It's nice here. Peaceful. Do —  do you come here a lot?"

"Nope," Kate said bluntly. "I've never been down here before."

"Oh. Well, I—"

"—I just left my father's funeral," she said in a rush, even though a part of her knew there was no reason to share that with Peter Parker (again, a stranger). "I don't know this area. I kinda just didn't wanna be at the shitshow anymore, so I took off...and got here."

Peter gaped at her, mouth opening and closing without words.

"Sorry. I don't know why I told you that."

"No! It's okay, I'm sorry for—"

"—don't worry," Kate laughed bitterly. She looked down at her expensive black loafers, and toed the cold dirt with her left toe. "I don't need the 'sorry for your loss' speech. I'm not lookin' for pity. I honestly...I'm not really all together at the moment? So, I don't know what I'm doing here. Or why I'm talking to you."

"O-okay...?"

She stared down at her dirtied loafer toe and once again wished for a piano to fall from the heavens and take her out of this miserable situation. "I'm sorry for bugging ya. Again, not all here right now. Burying your dickhead dad really takes a toll, y'know? But —" Kate pinched her side through her coat pocket and physically stopped her word vomit before it completely scared poor Peter Parker. "Anyways. I'll shut up. Sorry for interrupting your photo session."

"It's — it's okay. It's not that exciting. I was basically done, honestly."

That felt like a lie, but Kate was willing to accept it in her muddied state of mind. "Oh. Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't—"

"—I mean, I-I'm sorry you're going through that," Peter said quietly. He shuffled his feet on the pavement, avoiding her gaze. "I know what it's like."

Kate's brows furrowed low over her eyes. She felt like she knew sort of what he was talking about, but her brain was blurred by her bleeding emotions, and it couldn't recall the facts she was looking for. So she settled on a blank, "oh," figuring prying into his sob story wasn't a smart next move.

"Uh, can I — can I help?"

"What, help me?"

He nodded furtively. "Yeah. You seem like you're going through a lot. Shouldn't be alone for that."

The idea that a complete stranger like Peter Parker would take her interruption of his peace and her trauma-dumping and then offer assistance, just like that, made Kate bark out a sharp peal of laughter out. She clapped a hand over her mouth right after, realising laughing probably wasn't the best answer to his kindness.

"Sorry," she said, "I'm not laughing at you. Just — we don't know each other."

Peter looked a little confused. "So..."

"So, why would you offer to help me?"

"You...seem like you might want someone to be around."

Kate snorted bitterly. "I'm Kate Blackwell. I don't have a reason to be lonely."

Peter shrugged. "We all get there."

"I don't," she lied, for no reason. Then, she followed with, "Why would I be lonely?"

"Uh, okay."

"I — I mean that sounds rude. I just mean—"

"—it's okay, I-I get it—"

"—it's not you, it's my—"

"—it's okay," Peter cut in, finally getting a word in. He smiled small. "I get it. It's okay."

"I — thank you? For the offer. But I'm good. I'm honestly a lot better than I probably seem, so I'm just gonna..." she aimlessly gestured past the both of them. "...y'know. Yeah. Thanks, Parker, but I'm all good. You enjoy your afternoon."

"O-okay."

"Sorry," Kate said quickly, because it felt necessary. 

"It's okay."

"Okay."

How many times had they said 'okay'? Way too many times for her liking. Get a new word, Blackwell!

"See ya 'round," she said, filling the awkward silence with more awkwardness. She pulled her lips up into a smile that most definitely looked forced and fake. "Have a good one, Parker."

"Uh, you too. Well, I mean, y-you probably won't, but like, I —"

Kate waved him off and turned away, back on the path she had just trekked down. She didn't know if her feet would take her back to the funeral, or if they would lead her to a completely new area to both another poor stranger, but her brain wouldn't connect with the body. So wherever she was heading, it didn't feel like something she was really having a say in.

The trees swayed softly, bare branches interlacing and pulling away as the wind pushed them around. The air felt harsher than it had before, more stifling and cruel. Her feet ached as it took her away from her classmate. Everything felt out of shape and odd, and it didn't make sense why, but that strange feeling of missing something still sat with her.

It kind of felt like loneliness. But in a way Kate hadn't felt before. Here she thought she'd gotten it all; but this felt different, and really cold.

Peter Parker's words rang through her head, though Kate tried desperately to ignore them. You don't need to bother the guy, she bickered with herself, he's trying to live his life. He just offered to be nice. He probably didn't actually want to spend his free afternoon with a grieving rich girl. Squirrels were more fun than that. Definitely quieter.

But, even if that was true, it was still a tempting offer.

There were probably a thousand people that she could call right now. All would offer some sort of support and crappy coping mechanism, and in theory that would be worlds better than what she was doing now, even if 99% of her comforters would not be genuine. But, all Kate really wanted was to forget that she was Kate Blackwell, newly orphaned heiress, and also to not be stuck alone with herself anymore.

'Cause that really sucked at the moment.

Kate looked up from her feet and back at Peter, who still looked completely flustered and bewildered. "Actually. Crazy question, but are you super busy right now?"

"Uh — like — not super busy, no, I guess —"

"—d'ya wanna go somewhere with me?"

He blanched.

"Not in a weird way! I just, I don't wanna be alone right now," Kate hurried out, not sure why she was divulging all her secrets to Peter Parker, "and, um, we don't know each other and I know this is super weird but I'd really like to be around someone who doesn't know or care about me right now and who isn't trying to get in and capitalize on my dad's death. A-and I don't think I want to be alone with myself." She paused, then tacked on a, "please say no if you don't want to. I won't mind. I know this is stupid and weird."

"No, it's okay!"

"Really, Parker, I don't expect—"

"—I'm not busy," Peter cut in quickly. He gave her a gentle, shy smile. "I don't mind, either."

That wasn't completely believable — but she'd take it. "Great. Okay. Well...yeah. Great!"

His smile stretched a little further, cheeks warm with something similar to embarrassment.

"Sorry," Kate said, "I didn't plan this out. Um...I didn't..."

"We can go somewhere else, if you want?"

She pursed her lips and nodded slightly. "Yeah. Sure. That works."

"Where did you want to go...?"

Kate stared down the park walkway, blinking rapidly against the brittle wind. "I don't know," she admitted. "I don't know this area."

"Oh, right, yeah."

"You can pick," she told him, tucking her chin into her coat collar. "Anywhere y'want. I don't care."

Peter looked immediately stressed by her offer, and she realised that that might not have been the right thing to say — but Kate wasn't sure what was, and she didn't want to seem too pushy. The boy blinked, looking around at the busy city around them. "Uh...well..."

She waited patiently for him to finish.

"There's a...a cat café near by...?"

Kate tilted her head, considering his suggestion. That wasn't what she thought he would have said. "A cat café?"

"Yeah. It's nice. Quiet," he supplied helpfully. "Good for stress relief."

"I've never been to one of those." Truthfully, she really didn't know what it was, either. "Don't know much about 'em."

Peter smiled gently, "it's nice. They have a bunch of cats you can pet and sit with n'stuff. They have great hot chocolate, too."

Kate wasn't a huge cat person — honestly, she wasn't a pet person at all, mostly because her dad never let her get even a fish. He considered them dismal attachments that only make a person weak and vulnerable. The only pet she had ever had were stuffed animals or imaginary. Dogs, cats...she saw them, she knew what they were of course, but they were completely foreign concepts in Kate Blackwell's bubbled life.

She grinned at her feet, imagining the look on his face if he found out his kid ran from his funeral to go to a cat café, of all things. He was probably rolling in his grave, wishing he'd just thrown his money into the Hudson — at least that would be a better use of it than leaving it with her.

"Sure," Kate agreed. "That sounds great. Lead the way, Parker."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Sorry for the lack of updates. My depression is really getting me right now. It's making it hard to do anything, and that includes clicking 'publish' on already written chapters, I suppose. I want to say it won't take so long next time, but I don't know anymore. I don't know how to process this pain right now. I'm just hoping it passes soon.

Fyi, in my head, Archibald Du Pont is played by Timothy Olyphant.

THANK YOU
for reading.