I turned to face the window beside me, letting the silence settle for a moment. Then, the driver asked,

"Pardon me, ma'am," he began, his tone polite. "I know I'm supposed to drop you at the port as per the message I received earlier. If it's not a bother or me prying, may I ask where you're traveling to?"

I glanced toward the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the driver's face. He appeared a bit younger than my father, with an easygoing demeanor

"It's not a bother, mister...?" I asked, leaving the question open.

"Sentinel. Stephan Sentinel, ma'am," he replied with a friendly smile, his reflection visible in the mirror.

I hadn’t noticed the identity placard hanging on the back of the driver’s seat which is just in front of me before. It was large enough for me to make out the text clearly.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Sentinel. By the way, sir, what a cool surname you have," I commented, genuinely amused.

"Thank you," he chuckled. "I've been hearing that since elementary school. Also, it’s one of the reasons my wife married me." He laughed warmly, and I couldn’t help but smile back. He seemed like a friendly, jolly person.

I’ve never understood what makes dimples so attractive. Mr. Sentinel’s photo on the placard showed two deep dimples on each cheek. I could imagine those dimples charming plenty of people—probably even his wife.

I wish I had one just like my brother.

Though Kyle has flaws, Kyle seems to have been blessed with all the good genes. It’s like he took everything—intelligence, talent, charisma, looks —and left me with the leftovers. Even his fans—yes, actual fans—bring him free stuff, which he takes with his signature smile.

I mean, who wouldn't want free things handed to them? I want free things to be given to me too.

And here I am, letting my insecurities run wild again. I gave myself an internal laugh and a mental shake to snap back to reality. I still hadn’t answered Mr. Sentinel’s question.

"I don’t really know the name of the place I’m headed to, Mr. Sentinel,” I admitted, feeling a bit sheepish. “It’s an island, that’s all I know. But I do have someone in mind who might know more."

He glanced at me through the rearview mirror, a flicker of concern crossing his face before he refocused on the road. His tone was careful but firm when he said,

"Ma’am, forgive me for saying this, but you seem quite young to be traveling alone to a destination you’re not entirely sure of. It’s risky relying on strangers for guidance. As a father to a daughter, I can’t help but feel concerned."

I could sense his genuine care and it warmed my heart a little. I bet he’s a great father. Curious, I decided to ask,

"If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your daughter’s name, sir? And please, just call me Miss. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel old and awkward."

He chuckled warmly and answered with enthusiasm, "Her name is Raven. She might be about your age, maybe a little younger. She’s a bit of a tomboy, but a smart and sweet girl."

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The name struck a chord. Raven. It sounded so familiar, like I’d heard it before. But where?

Where was it…

My thoughts were interrupted when Mr. Sentinel asked, "May I inquire, Miss? Who is this person you’re planning to seek help from? I ask only because if anything were to happen, I might be able to assist or provide some useful information."

I understood his reasoning immediately. If I were to go missing or face any trouble, Mr. Sentinel would be the last person to have interacted with me, making him a crucial source for the authorities. His question was thoughtful, albeit slightly unsettling.

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, not because I found his concern amusing, but at how far-fetched the idea seemed. My life had been so peaceful and uneventful up to this point that I couldn’t imagine anything bad happening. Still, I quickly realized my reaction might seem dismissive or rude, so I apologized.

“Sorry, Mr. Sentinel. I didn’t mean to laugh. I genuinely appreciate your concern,” I said, giving him an earnest smile. “The person I’m supposed to meet is named Bill or Billy. By any chance, do you know someone by that name who frequents the port?”

Mr. Sentinel tilted his head slightly to the side, his brows furrowing in thought before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Miss. That name doesn’t ring a bell for me.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling a tiny twinge of disappointment. Silence lingered for a moment before he cleared his throat and added, “But, Miss, there’s something else I can offer—some advice on self-defense. It might be useful if you ever find yourself in an unfortunate situation.”

That got my attention. I sat up straighter, feeling a rush of curiosity. “Really? What kind of self-defense tips? I’ve always wanted to learn some!” I grinned, eager to hear more.

Mr. Sentinel’s dimples deepened as he smiled at my enthusiasm. “As I tell my daughter, if you ever have to defend yourself, aim for the most vulnerable parts. Always strike first, and strike with purpose.”

I leaned in slightly, intrigued. “What are the vulnerable parts? Where should I aim?”

“The eyes,” he began, his tone calm but firm. “They’re sensitive and easy to target. Next, the throat—it can disrupt breathing and incapacitate an attacker. The sternum, if struck hard enough, can cause serious discomfort or disorientation. And finally,” he hesitated just briefly, “the groin. That one’s self-explanatory.”

I nodded, impressed by his clarity and the confidence with which he spoke. It occurred to me that Mr. Sentinel might have some formal training in martial arts or self-defense. “You sound like you really know your stuff, Mr. Sentinel.”

He chuckled modestly. “I’ve had some training here and there, and I make it a point to teach my daughter these basics. You never know when they might come in handy.”

I couldn’t help but admire his protective nature. It was clear he deeply cared for his daughter, and his advice, though simple, carried weight. As they say, you should never judge a book by its cover.

"Our senses are crucial. Deprive your opponent of theirs," Mr. Sentinel continued, his tone both calm and intense. "If you’re armed with something sharp and want to incapacitate them slowly, aim for the eyes first so they can’t see, then the ears so they can’t hear, and finally, the Achilles tendon in the feet so they can’t walk. At that point, they’ll only have their hands left, so..."

He paused, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. I was trying to maintain a neutral expression, but my discomfort must have shown, as he quickly added, pointing to the side of his neck with one hand while keeping the other firmly on the steering wheel,

"Go for the carotid vein, Miss. That’s where it ends."

His straightforwardness startled me a bit, and he laughed to ease the tension. "I’m just saying—worst-case scenario, of course," he added, his tone more casual now.

I couldn’t help but smile awkwardly. Though the advice felt extreme, I could see his point. He was being protective in his own way.

In truth, I didn’t have a clear plan. I had no idea what to expect at the island, no description of this “Bill” or “Billy” to go on. It struck me that I had a lot of uncertainties. My aunt and mom had shared very little about this person, leaving me with only a name and vague instructions.

After our conversation, the drive to the port felt shorter than I anticipated. Despite the rain, the roads were clear, and Mr. Sentinel skillfully navigated us there.

As we pulled up, I reached for my wallet to pay the fare. “Thank you, Mr. Sentinel. Drive safely, and I hope you have a great day,” I said, handing him the money.

He gave me a warm smile. “And you, Miss. Be careful out there. Remember—carotid,” he added with a playful grin, gesturing to his neck and mimicking a dramatic “death” motion.

I stood still for a moment, letting my eyes take in the scene around me. *What now?*