Once a year, and it just happens to be when he shows up. James sighs through his nose with the weariness of someone who feels kinda like they might be the butt of some great, cosmic joke.

Just because a death didn't stick doesn't mean it didn't happen. Those words hurt, like a blade worked and wedged between his ribs. His hand instinctively goes to his pocket for a letter he no longer has.

"Frivolous..." he repeats, voice low and deliberately steady. "Is that really what people think?"