Ava entered the library, her steps muffled by the heavy rug that covered the floor. The air was still, expectant, as if the very walls had paused to listen. The late afternoon sun streamed through the towering arched windows, casting a warm, golden glow across the shelves of old books, the rays falling in narrow bands across the rich mahogany of the desk ahead.
And there he was.
Zach stood before the massive window behind his desk, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other hanging loosely by his side. He didn't move when she entered—didn't even glance over his shoulder. His silhouette was framed against the bright light outside, rigid, like a figure carved out of silence.
Ava hesitated near the door. Her fingers curled against the hem of her sleeves as a thousand thoughts warred for dominance in her mind. She wasn't sure what she had expected walking in.
