October was not meant to be a time of reflection, and yet, and Jett unpacked the newest box Jacoby Winchester had supplied him, he found himself reflection.

There were a number of mostly nonsensical, uninteresting baubles wrapped tightly in old newspapers; he had figured only a slight few were worth much of anything at all. Though easily a few decades old, most of the trinkets looked to have no value. The figurines looked as though they had been mass produced, and even then looked to be from some obscure, second rate company.

There were a few odd pieces that looked like they might be of value, so he'd left those sitting out.

He was nearly done filtering through the boxes when he pulled out another tenderly wrapped piece that was roughly the size of a Magic-8 ball (he'd considered shaking it, too). Peeling back the faded newspaper, he discarded that into the foot-high stack on the floor—which was promptly massacred for the umpteenth time by the little golden kitten who had since become so familiar with the antique shop.

With an annoyed look, Jett leaned over the counter to look down at the creature, who had been purring for most of the morning.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes; it didn't matter how cute the kitten was, he still had no intention of warming up to it. Returning his attention to the item in his hand, it took him a long moment to draw up an opinion of it.

In his hand, he held a glistening, somewhat aged yet still well-preserved little pigglet. More importantly than the ceramic pig was what it made him think of.

Jett had not seen Millicent Lafeu in—roughly—months.

He recalled spending time with her in July, though with the Dark Mirror Court and work—and then with school—he had been suitably distracted. He had gotten used to the girl barging in, demanding his attention, and it seemed so wrong now that he reflected on it.

She hadn't been to bother him once in two months.

Jett, strangely enough, missed her.

Not in the deep, sappy way that girls could get, but in a genuine, nostalgic sort of way. She lived a few blocks from him, for Christ's sake—she used to come in a few times a week to bug him for something.

A little shiver ran down his spine, and for a split second, he was almost disappointed with himself.

She had—somehow—become an important factor in his life. And yet, it had taken him two months to realize she had been ******** was only on way to make up for it.

He'd visit her today, after work; he'd wrap up this pig, swing by to see her, go do something. Figure out what the hell happened to make her disappear for so long. Maybe bring her back and let her pet the cat a bit. Little girls liked cats, that ought to count for something, right?

…Maybe.

As long as Millicent didn't think he'd forgotten about her since they'd last seen each other. He wasn't going to be like her father—or his.