He didn't say anything—just nodded, once, solidly, the way someone does when they know a moment is worth remembering but not reacting to. A lesson received, accepted, and shelved.
As Marla passed, her eyes lingered on Evelyn—not with suspicion or judgment, but with a kind of quiet study, like someone looking through a half-open window. "
You're layered more than most," she murmured.
Evelyn didn't respond. Not with words. Not even with a glance.
The moment passed with no ripple. But Ethan tucked it away. There was weight in silence, too.
—
By the time they were walking back toward their private housing, the sunset had begun painting the upper sky in soft pastels—orange melting into lavender, with streaks of burnt gold lining the stone paths beneath their feet.
The light stretched long over the quiet roads, and though there were still students moving around, everything had that winding-down feel of a world catching its breath after just enough motion.
