Ava Brooks – POV
There's something weird about how small a town feels after someone comes back changed.
I sat on the Bennett family porch beside Maya, swinging my feet off the edge like I used to when we were kids, except this time my heart was pounding harder than it should've been for a regular Saturday morning.
"He's gonna look different, you know," Maya said, tapping her nails on the wooden railing. "Lucas isn't just some scruffy teenager anymore. He's, like... full-on soldier mode."
I gave a dramatic sigh. "I still remember the time he screamed when a spider landed on his cereal."
Maya cracked up. "Oh my god—yes! That was peak baby brother energy."
"He's older than you," I reminded her, grinning.
"Technicalities," she said with a wave of her hand. "Now shut up, his text said he's five minutes out."
I tried to play it cool. But deep down? I was nervous.
Not because I had a crush—please. Lucas was like… background noise. Maya's older brother. A fixture. He used to tease me for how I tied my shoes and called me "Short Stack" until I grew taller than him in ninth grade. That didn't last long—he had a growth spurt the next year, like he was racing the world to prove he belonged in it.
I hadn't seen him in nearly two years.
Not since the goodbye at the airport where he'd hugged Maya tight and given me a one-arm side hug like I was some buddy from school. He'd smiled back at us once before getting on the bus, and then he was gone.
Now he was coming back.
And it felt like something was shifting.
The low hum of a black SUV grew louder as it rolled down the street, kicking up a puff of dust. Maya stood up straighter, eyes wide, and I followed her lead.
The vehicle pulled up to the curb, sleek and dark and military-grade serious. The back door opened.
And there he was.
Lucas Bennett.
Holy crap.
Gone was the skinny kid who wore Star Wars tees and backward caps. Standing in his place was a six-foot-something soldier in a fitted navy-blue T-shirt and cargo pants, sleeves hugging his biceps, jaw sharper than my GPA, and a calm, unreadable expression on his face.
He looked around, eyes scanning until they landed on us.
And when they did, something flickered in them. Barely there. But enough.
"Wow," Maya whispered. "He really did level up."
"Understatement of the century," I muttered.
Lucas shut the door and walked up the driveway. His walk was slower, more measured now — like he was used to being watched.
"Hey," he said when he reached us, voice low and steady. It wasn't the same voice I remembered — this one had a rasp to it.
Maya launched herself at him and wrapped him in a hug. "I missed you, you loser!"
He actually smiled. "Missed you too."
He glanced at me, and I offered a little wave.
"Hey, Ava," he said.
There was a beat. His eyes stayed on mine longer than I expected.
I smiled, but it was awkward, and for the life of me, I didn't know why.
We went inside. Mrs. Bennett cried, obviously. Mr. Bennett gave Lucas a stiff pat on the shoulder. It all felt kind of surreal.
Maya dragged me up to her room afterward and threw herself onto the bed like it was emotionally exhausting just watching him exist.
"I feel like he's a whole new person," she said into a pillow. "Still my brother, but like... way cooler. You know what I mean?"
I nodded absently, pacing near her bookshelf. "Yeah. I mean, he definitely got taller. His voice dropped like ten floors. And he didn't insult my shoes once."
Maya laughed. "Wow. He must really like you now."
I snorted. "Doubt that. He probably just doesn't recognize me."
But her words sat with me longer than I liked.
And that night, lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slowly overhead, I found myself replaying that one look he gave me.
Like maybe... he did recognize me.
And not as Maya's childhood sidekick