ashton emerson. your birth name is enough to stop you dead in your tracks, veins running cold, heartbeat accelerating. you haven’t heard ashton in years, especially not from the mouth of someone you don’t know. ( you were on the news before, but it was years ago, headlines blaring: house fire kills all but one, ashton emerson wanted as suspect. ) since then, you’ve changed, body covered in tattoos, facial hair lying where it hadn’t before, scars twisting across your skin. GRIEF CHANGED YOU, aged you. you thought you looked different enough.
evidently, you were mistaken.
though your mind is reeling, your composure is calm, confused, as if he has the wrong person. make them doubt themselves, not you. “ are you ——— are you talking to me? ” burnt hand is conveniently hidden away within the pocket of your hoodie, concealing any evidence that you might have ever been involved in a fire. ( you got that burn trying to save them, but the entire world’s convinced it was done on purpose, that your purity and kindness of your youth had all been an ellaborate act. ) “ because i don’t know an ashton. ” @unsolvedcase