It was early, and he never expected to find Evans there, but there she was, every morning, pacing about the lawn, textbooks held tight to her chest. There was a damp mist on the air, and he could imagine tiny droplets of water catching in her hair, clinging to locks he'd never touched, and never would. Her hair was vibrant in the faint morning light, standing out against the bleak backdrop of the castle, and he thought sometimes that she could stand out against anything.

And this morning, she stopped, and turned. "Good morning," she said, and the sun rose.

 

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