The wind tugged at the frayed edges of the man's blanket as he sat up, cap low over his eyes, grime layered on grime across hands that clutched the fabric around him like armor.
"I might be able to help you," he repeated, his smirk lazy, teeth yellow and cracked.
Grant glanced at me, one brow raised. I returned the look before stepping forward, the band on my wrist snapping softly, a reminder to keep myself in check.
"Help us how?" I asked, voice low, even.
The man shifted, scratching at his scruffy beard, eyes flicking between us with an amusement that felt too sharp for someone who had been asleep in the dirt moments earlier.
"You two look like you're looking for someone who doesn't want to be found," he said, leaning back against the rotting porch post, "and you look like you ain't here for nothing."
Grant folded his arms, sighing. "You got a name?"
The man snorted. "Names are for people who need to be found."
