Her voice floated up to him, and for old time's sake he turned around and looked at her. Watched her as she dug her nails into the palms of her hands. Watched as she looked as though she wanted to slap him. Finally, after a moment of staring he answered her.
"Who?" His voice was quiet, strained. He didn't want to hear the answer, but he had to. "Who died, Cass?" He added on to the sentence, repeating it so it was louder. He kept asking himself why she had to turn up here. He loved her, he'd always love her but she was ruining everything he had made for himself here. Which was nothing. And he liked that. Having no one expect things from him.