[ nothing again. Caleb grits his teeth. She really doesn't want to talk then. Not that he's much of a chatterbox himself, but it makes things more complicated than he'd like. Especially when considering what he should do with her—if anything, other than taking her back to the beach now that she's all recovered. But the thought of leaving her there, alone in the dead of night, and driving off doesn't sit right with him. Not with her sitting here looking at him so... expectantly. What does she want?

He straightens up a little when she opens her mouth. But instead of speaking, she skims her fingertips over her lips, her gaze not wavering in the slightest. Puzzled, he brings his own hand up—does he have something on his face?—before realizing what she's wondering about. His scar, a pale line arcing up through the left side of his mouth and ending just shy of his eye.

Despite himself, he has to suppress a smile. A scar would seem odd to someone who apparently never has to worry about getting any of her own, wouldn't it. ]

This? Got it in a fight a while back. Man pulled a knife on me without considerin' I might've had one too.

[ "last mistake of his life," he almost finishes, but he doesn't. Nor does he take out the switchblade from his pocket. Frightening her definitely won't get him anywhere.

But he needs to try something else. Caleb thinks for a second, then taps his chest once, trying to soften his tone again. ]

Name's Caleb, by the way. And what can I call you?

[ a long shot, but who knows—maybe she'll actually answer that. ]