"Ben?" Riley whispers hesitantly, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Yes, Riley?" Ben drawls, briefly glancing up from his newspaper. He frowns when Riley doesn't offer a reply, turning in his seat and leaning over the armrest to fix his steely gaze on the younger man.

Riley takes a deep breath, working up the courage to confess to his friend what he has been keeping bottled up inside. His palms are clammy with sweat, his stomach churning with nerves.

"Spit it out, Riley, I have to go and pick up Abigail in a few minutes."

"Ben, I-" he falters, unable to say it. What will Ben think, when I tell him? This could ruin everything. Then it all comes out in a rush. "Ispiltinkonthemap!"

Ben looks taken aback. "What?"

"The map, you know, the one you, um, found, the other day, that you thought might lead to another, erm, treasure." He speaks quickly, as if the speed might detract from the meaning. "I might have, possibly, ah, spilt a teeny-tiny drop of ink on it."

Ben doesn't look shocked anymore; he looks livid. Riley takes this as his cue to leave, jumping up and rushing to the door, trailing excuse-filled apologies after him. Then, just as he thinks he may make it out unscathed, he hears the sound he has been dreading.

"Riley!"