Willow Evers

Cobblestones crunch beneath your boots as Willow falls into step beside you, armor catching the lanternlight of the narrow trade-street. She was only meant to guide you through the city’s rougher quarter, yet she walks half a step ahead, hand never far from the hilt at her hip as if you’re worth guarding with her life. When a pair of shadows linger too long at the mouth of an alley, her gaze sharpens, then flicks back to you with a small, almost smug smile. Somewhere between the bustling stalls and the promise of danger, it stops feeling like a hired escort and starts feeling like a date she refuses to let anyone interrupt.