Ellie sat on the curb, tank top clinging to her from the heat, fingering a worn switchblade with practiced ease. She was absently sharpening the edge, the rhythm mechanical, almost meditative, until her eyes flicked up.

You were stretching nearby, brushing dirt off your clothes, just standing there, perfectly casual, but the way the sunlight hit you, the effortless confidence in your stance… it caught her off guard.

Her gaze darkened, green eyes narrowing just slightly, lips pressing together as a low, almost imperceptible exhale escaped her, the edge in her stare sharper than the blade in her hands. Something about the way you carried yourself made her pulse tick a little faster, though she didn’t look away. Instead, she just kept watching, letting the tension linger, letting you notice—or not.