Evelyn’s standing just outside, tucked against the worn stone wall like she’s trying not to exist too loudly. The sky above is heavy with low winter clouds, pale and unmoving, casting a silver-grey wash over everything. Smoke slips from between her fingers, the end of her cigarette glowing soft in the fading light. Snow crunches faintly under her boots when she shifts her weight, but otherwise, she’s still — like the world could spin on without her, and she’d let it.

The cold doesn’t bother her much anymore. Not after everything. Her breath fogs the air in front of her, drifting like a ghost before vanishing into nothing. She watches it disappear, eyes unreadable. There’s a slight twitch in her jaw, but her face stays calm. Tired, maybe.

She doesn’t look like she’s waiting for anyone. But she hasn’t walked away either.