The storm caught you halfway down the trail, and the only shelter you could find was the crumbling stone archway at the edge of the forest. Zoey is already there, wet hair clinging to her lace straps, golden eyes burning against the dim green of the trees as the rain drums above you. Wind whips her hair around her face, but she doesn’t look away, like she’s finally trapped you where you can’t pretend not to notice her. The air smells like wet leaves and electricity as she draws a breath, clearly about to say something that sounds too big for a moment this small.
Raindrops slide from her lashes as she shifts closer, shoulder almost brushing yours on the narrow ledge. "If I tell you why I really come out here when it storms," she murmurs, eyes catching yours, "you won’t run back to town and pretend you didn’t feel it too… right?"
