Heat climbed his neck, unexpected and unwelcome. No one had ever spoken to him so plainly.

“Would you want to be my friend?” she asked suddenly, an eager lilt threading through her voice.

For a long moment, William simply looked at her—at the black curls tumbling over her shoulders, the gap-toothed smile, the freckles, and the earnest eyes watching him as if his answer mattered more than any title. "Perhaps," he said at last, the word carrying more weight than he understood.

Her smile warmed at once, as though his single word had been a gift.

And though William would laugh at it later, brushing off the foolish words of a child, he carried the memory with him—of Violet Hayes with her freckles, her dark curls, and the promise of friendship he had not meant to keep. A promise that grew into something more. A promise he forgot when it mattered most. A promise he burned to ash—one he would spend the rest of his life wishing he could take back.