Since Esmera was abandoned on a stranger's doorstep as a baby, the only person who has looked out for her is herself.
Until a lark starts visiting her, leaving behind exotic flowers and iridescent pebbles that the internet doesn't recognise.
Esmera...
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Mr Morghis's accusation shocked Esmera into silence. That was if "shock" was the word for a pounding heart, sweaty palms and ears that burned like wildfires during a drought, but what other name was there for this feeling?
The truth was, Esmera liked the rain well enough. But that was when it fell gently, cooling the earth and flicking life into her skin, not when it blinded her. Not when it endured for hours, running down her neck and soaking into her socks until she didn't remember what it was like to be dry.
"I..." She tried for a shrug, but it felt more like a tense jerk than the casual movement she'd intended. "Sometimes storms are unavoidable."
Tauram Morghis scanned her. His dark eyes gleamed, unreadable in the dimness of the room, yet they still managed to unravel Esmera.
"I can see that."
Esmera's cheeks grew hot. They must be drawing heat from the fire set into the wall on the opposite side of the room. It had nothing to do with those eyes that could judge and tease and study her all with one look.
"Sorry for wetting your coat." Esmera tucked her hands into the pockets, which were still dry.
"Don't be." Mr Morghis waved a dismissive hand. "Coats are meant to get wet. People are not." He gestured at the coat stand beside the door.
It had been hidden behind the door when Belaren opened it. Now that it was closed, the rack stood proudly, enough shades darker than the wall to separate itself from it.
"Why don't you hang up the coat and dry off by the fire?" Even if Mr Morghis's voice wasn't one of the most inviting Esmera had ever heard, she would've been unable to resist such an offer.
"I'd like that." It had been hours since she had been dry and warm, and years since she sat beside a fire.
She'd had a fireplace in her room when she lived with the Thomas family. Since then, Esmera couldn't help but think of it whenever she saw one. The simple sight took her back to happier days. It was worth it to feel cosy and loved for a moment, even though she knew she would always return to her cold, harsh present.
Mr Morghis stepped out from behind his desk. Esmera draped his damp coat over an empty hook, then joined him in front of the fire.
The flames glimmered off the glossy coffee table in front of Mr Morghis. Strangely enough, they gave off no smoky scent, no aroma of burning wood. It was an electric fire, Esmera saw on closer inspection.
Of course it was. Whoever had thought to design an apartment like this would see to it that a fire couldn't stain its walls with soot or taint its furniture with the smell of smoke.
"Please, sit down."
Mr Morghis's request sounded an awful lot like a command, but Esmera cast a doubtful look at the chair he indicated. It was a beautiful tub armchair, with paisley patterns embroidered in more shades of grey than she knew existed.
