He smiles. His lips squish together and the corners of his mouth tug outward. He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his fingers into them—apparently to relieve an itch. His nostrils flare as he sucks in an exhausted breath and exhales again. He reaches a skinny hand to his neck and pats down the crinkled collar of his uniform.

I already want to leave. My arms go stiff and my breaths cut short. I’m doing my best to hold eye contact, something I told myself to practice. But this tests every ounce of me. I’ve never talked to someone old. Do I offer him a seat? Ask about what he does for the Embassy? The longer we stare at each other, the more anxious I become. If I look away, he might think I don’t want to talk to him. If only Orcher was here, or Victoria. Victoria. I haven’t seen her in two days. She would help me.

“How is your family?”

“Um, they’re good.”

“Your sisters must be growing up quickly.”

His mouth gapes in a quiet—no, dead—laugh. A laugh that’s probably meant to ease the tension, but makes me even more uncomfortable. His eyes stare straight into mine, weary and dry. He rubs the bridge of his nose.

“I haven’t seen such young faces in a long, long time. I’m sure you’ve grown to appreciate your youth…all those young faces around you.” His mouth suddenly droops, and shadows extend from his wrinkles. “Now you see me.”

A prick of unease stabs my chest. He thinks I don’t like him.

“You worked with my father?”

“Oh, yes. We knew each other. He was a busy man, of course, but I saw him often enough.”

Captain Blitner creases his forehead. He looks in pain. His eyes grow distant. He slips a pale hand into the pocket of his uniform, retrieves a white bottle, and frowns at it.

“Excuse me.”

He opens the bottle and shakes out a pill, then swallows it. I watch him, unsure of what to do. I grimace sympathetically as he slips the returns the bottle to his pocket.

Another stretch of silence. More awkward staring and me trying not to look uncomfortable. I scratch the side of my cheek…let my eyes wander. Then I think of something to say that will get me out of this mess.

“General Orcher says I’m working with you?”

“Yes, but I am afraid you might not find it very interesting.”

He bows his head and presses his fingers into his eyes again before motioning toward the workstation I was reading the information on.

“Please, sit.”

Reluctantly, I do as he says. He stands beside me, his bony fingers gripping the back of the seat. I can feel the tremors of his body, but he says nothing about getting himself a seat.

“So, Arman. Did you meet Lucas Starmile?”

“Yeah.”