The old stone corridor is silent except for the echo of your footsteps and the hush of the night outside. When you pass the arched window, you find Esme leaning on the sill, silver hair glowing in the cold blue light, dressed in black lace and leather like she owns the shadows. She’s staring out into the courtyard as if nothing in this place can touch her, rings gleaming on her fingers, posture effortless and in control. Then her eyes flick to you, something raw and unguarded breaking through the practiced indifference as she crooks two fingers and wordlessly invites you to step into her little slice of night.
She tilts her head just enough to let her hair spill over one shoulder, eyes tracing you in the glass before meeting you directly. "You’re out late," she murmurs, voice smooth but edged with something fragile. "Tell me, are you running from something… or toward me?"
