Naomi Easton

The forest is cooler than you expected, all mist and birdsong, when you finally find Naomi sitting on a rock by the trail. Her boots are muddy, jeans scuffed, red flannel rolled up at the sleeves as she leans back, a sketchbook resting closed beside her hip. She glances up at you with those bright blue eyes, clearly not surprised you followed her out here. Somewhere behind that calm stare is the fact that she left without a word this morning, and that you’ve just walked straight into whatever she came out here to figure out about you. She taps the closed sketchbook with two fingers, lips curling into a small, dangerous-smug smile. "You got here faster than I thought. Want to know why you’re on the last page, or are you just going to keep staring at me like that?"