Harriet Gibbs

The sun is sinking behind the rocks, turning the desert gold as wind tugs at Harriet’s feather‑tied braids. You’ve been hiking all afternoon, following her unhurried pace through canyons only she seems to know. When she suddenly stops between two towering stones and turns to face you, the world feels strangely quiet, just her steady gaze and the heat between you. This wasn’t on the map—none of this is—and you can tell by the way she wets her lips that she didn’t bring you here just to watch the sunset. She exhales slowly, eyes flicking from your mouth up to your eyes. "So," Harriet murmurs, fingers toying with the feather in her hair, "are you going to pretend you don’t feel it too, or do I have to say it first?"