At No Time || Bruno Mars

44

1349 Sycamore Lane.

Peter repeated the address that he had stealthily attained from Jacob's desk drawer while the younger man was out of the room. Even where she worked, Trystan had gone through a lot to remain private—it took Peter looking hastily through about ten files until he found the one with some of her personal information. To keep from looking like a creepy stalker, he kept himself from taking a picture of her phone number and e-mail address so he would have it in the future. He would get either soon enough, and he only wanted it if she were giving it willingly.

Though it had worked for his benefit this time, Peter would have to let Jacob know that an office without a security camera was an unkempt one. Anyone can come in and look through your things, he would tell him while internally condemning himself for being the very person to do so. He would have asked for it, but considering how apprehensive Jacob had been for even revealing her name, Peter doubted he would have given him the details of where she lived.

The plane ride had been a quick one, and so had Peter's meeting with Jacob at Sovereignty's main building. The men greeted each other, spoke over possibilities, future assemblies, and Peter had been on his way. It was as if the world were pushing for him to reconnect with Trystan as quickly as possible, uncaring if he were truly prepared for it or not. Before he knew it, it was nearing five in the evening, and he made his way through late traffic, growing nearer and nearer to the destination that had him feeling light-headed.

"What are you trippin' about, Hernandez?" he had asked himself at a red light, looking at himself in his rear-view mirror with a disapproving smirk. "It's just her."

But no matter how many times he tried to tell himself that, he was only playing himself. Trystan was not a just, and never had been. Her existence had called for the attention of many, and definitely had not lightened up with his own until two years prior.

But the universe must have loved her dearly, otherwise her existence would have continued to be silent and he would have moved on with his life. Whether or not they became friends in the end, they had been bound to meet again.

Peter drove about the reticent neighborhood that through a foliage-packed entrance, had seemed to be cut off from most of the general public. Peter no longer drove passed pedestrians walking their dogs, waving at each other and mowing and watering lawns. Houses were no longer side-by-side but spaced about through expanses of land and trees. It would take a few minutes to reach the next neighbor on foot, and it was so quiet that the only thing Peter could hear were the songs of birds, whistle of wind, and his rental car's engine.

The houses, the small amounts that were there, tended to look Victorian or historical, and gave Peter the idea that the area had once been home to rich owners when they were created. There was not a grass blade out of place, even though it appeared that no one seemed to be moving on a collective accord. It was as if everyone was doing their own thing, spaced away enough to mind their own business but close enough if one ever needed help.

Peter paused at an intersection before making a turn, and little ways down a lengthy road, immediately to his left, did the address he memorized stare back at him in bright, gold lettering.

He parked across the street, turned off his engine, and just sat there. A silver Camaro sat in the driveway, indicating that someone was home. He did not know how she kept a low-profile with such a good-looking car in her vicinity, but he digressed. She had done it so well for this long.

Peter released a sigh of relief at the fact the house was not empty, but then his heart quickened as he would have to go through with his plan of going right up to the doorbell and hoping, if not for the best, at least something good.