"A root beer, please," Peter said to the shop owner, standing in front of a small convenience store called Kelly's. The shop was a mix of a grocery store, soda fountain, and gas station. Besides cold drinks, it sold beer, cheap wine, and various off-brand cigarettes.

"Alright, you can stop following me now, Gwen. I saw you."

As the shopkeeper prepared his drink, Peter turned around to face the figure lingering behind him.

Gwen emerged from the corner, looking a bit flustered. "Good afternoon, Peter."

Today, Gwen was dressed casually, her golden hair held back by a clover-green headband. She wore a snug Basque shirt that emphasized her figure. Trying to sound natural, she cleared her throat and said, "I saw someone who looked like you coming out of the hospital, so I followed. I didn't think it'd actually be you."

"Well, what a coincidence."

Peter pretended not to notice the awkwardness in Gwen's explanation and took the large, frosty cup from the shopkeeper. He handed it to her, saying, "I remember you like root beer, Gwen."

"For me?" Gwen blinked, a bit surprised that Peter remembered her preference.

"Yeah, think of it as a thank you for your kind words yesterday in Vice Principal Morton's office."

Peter placed a five-dollar bill on the counter and pushed it towards the shopkeeper.

Taking the drink, Gwen smiled slightly. "I thought you'd be upset with me for what I said yesterday. I thought I might've done something stupid."

Peter shook his head. "No. Some people don't even have the courage to do something 'stupid.'"

Gwen brightened up at his remark about her bravery. She wanted to ask why he had been at the hospital, but thought it might be too intrusive. The atmosphere between them grew quiet and still.

"I believe Josh's death had nothing to do with you, Peter," Gwen said after a pause, her voice firm. "You're the victim here."

"Actually, Gwen," Peter said, his expression calm as he took his change from the shopkeeper, "whether it was the bullying before or being suspected after Josh's death... none of it really matters to me."

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"It doesn't matter?"

"Some people lack empathy," Peter said quietly. "They don't realize how much their actions hurt others. Humanity doesn't get better; it only gets smarter. And when they get smarter, they still pluck the wings off butterflies. They just find better reasons for it."

He continued, "Principal Morton said he felt bad about my past experiences, but I know he doesn't. Nobody really does. People can't understand the daily, constant pain of someone else unless it affects them directly. And they don't care."

Gwen stood there, speechless, feeling a pang of sympathy for Peter.

Peter added, "And I'm the same way, Gwen. I can't empathize, so I don't care about others' opinions."

Gwen wanted to argue that Peter wasn't as detached as he claimed, but she swallowed her words.

"Thanks for the root beer," she murmured, handing the frosted cup back to him.

"Want another?" Peter offered.

"No, I've had enough," Gwen said, waving it off. "Even though I love root beer, I'm full."

Then, changing the subject, she asked, "Do you think something like Josh's death will happen again, Peter?"

"I get the feeling it's not over," Gwen continued. "Maybe the murderer will strike again. Hiding the body in the storage room... it feels like a provocation."

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe. Maybe the killer is arrogant, showing off death to others."

"I hate that word," Gwen muttered, visibly irritated.

Peter, hearing her distaste for the word "death," thought back to Mrs. Weber's warning that he was marked by death. After a brief silence, he stared at the passing cars and mused aloud, "Death might not be the worst thing. Entropy is inevitable. Heat death is the most likely end for us all. Every species, living or not, will eventually die. In a way, we're all just buried in a tomb called the universe."

Gwen stared at him, taken aback by his words. In the golden light of the setting sun, Peter's profile looked mysterious and striking. Her heart skipped a beat.

After parting ways with Peter, Gwen took the subway home. Though she was still troubled, her conversation with Peter at the fruit shop had lightened her mood. Still, she couldn't help but wonder why Peter had been at the hospital in the first place.

Back in her room, Gwen turned on her computer. She skimmed through her email inbox, noticing a message from the school about postponing the football regional championship.

"This doesn't concern me," she muttered, deleting the email. She wasn't involved in the football team or the cheerleading squad, so it was of little interest to her.

Another email caught her attention—an anonymous confession letter. As a member of one of the school's "famous" bands, Gwen wasn't too surprised to get fan messages, but this one was different. The sender's identity was hidden, and Gwen's email address wasn't public knowledge.

"Is this a prank?" she wondered aloud, deleting the message. She glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall—7 p.m. Her father had called earlier to say he wouldn't be home, so she had to prepare her own dinner.

For a fleeting moment, a thought crossed her mind. *What if that email had been from Peter?*

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