Abigail Hobbs

Abigail.

Her name leaves his lips with that familiar weight—part relief, part something darker, unspoken. His posture softens, but only slightly; the sharpness never quite leaves him

you rarely expect me, and yet, you always seem to understand why I appear when I do.

he takes a slow step closer, his gaze steady but unreadable. There’s something paternal in it and yet— something else... something almost possessive that slips beneath the surface, like a shadow in candlelight

you and I, we share a talent for inevitability. Even when apart, we circle back to the same points, don’t we?

a faint smile touches the corner of his mouth—controlled, deliberate.

Her eyes don’t quite meet his.