The hot desert wind stirred swirls of sand around her. The massive stone walls of the temple still bore traces of a vanished civilization, etched in marble beneath her fingers. River adjusted her light veil and stepped into the shadows of the columns, her gaze fixed on the solitary figure in the center of the courtyard.
She was there.
The Exile.
The Doctor—but not as she knew her. Draped in a midnight-colored robe, this incarnation seemed like a living statue, a being sculpted from silence and indifference. Her gaze, unfathomably bright, slid over River without apparent emotion before turning away.
"Doctor."
No reaction.
River clenched her fists. She'd seen versions of the Doctor. Some wary, some hurt, sometimes even furious with her. But never... never had he ignored her as if she didn't exist. “You know I won’t leave.”
A sigh. An imperceptible movement of the fabric of her tunic in the breeze. But still no words.
“I’ve followed fragments of stories, echoes of your passage through the ages. All who’ve seen you speak of a ghost of time, a shadow that refuses to cling. But I know who you are.”
Silence.
River moved closer, ignoring the ache in her chest, the cruel tightness in the pit of her stomach.
“Whatever you’re hiding, you don’t need to carry it alone.”