Though he was very sweet and didn't get mad at her, Constance remained wary of the stranger. She hadn't met many good strangers in her short life so far, and it would probably be one of those things that lingered with her for the rest of her life. Strangers, or outsiders, were nothing but trouble. She had already learned this lesson, and yet a part of her couldn't help but stay beside the stranger's chair and stare at him. Constance didn't know for the life of her what had rooted her to the spot, but she couldn't find the will to move her feet.

Shuffling nervously underneath her bulky coat, Constance tilted her head slightly and moved one shoulder up as if to shrug. "My parents are here," she said. "I hid in the back of the truck." It was clear that she wasn't supposed to come here but had found a way to get here. "I wanted to come." If she had been shy, she would have looked down after his insistence not to apologize, but instead she drew her eyebrows together and continued to stare at him. He wasn't from around here. "Where are you from?" Constance asked, crossing her arms a little. Not to look haughty, though; merely just for comfort.

She looked over at the old man who had come over from the bar. He had been the one talking about alchemists. Constance wondered how he knew about them, but she wasn't going to say anything about herself and her family. It was secret between only their people. Outsiders weren't meant to know of their family's great power, a power that had been passed down to her. "Maybe," she said secretively, the sparkle in his eyes eliciting a smile from her and a sense of calm. He seemed like such a nice man. It comforted her, even if he was asking about a sensitive topic that involved her family. It felt like fate. People didn't just walk around asking about something rare that just happened to regard you.