"Lara," Yannis called, his voice carrying just enough firmness to cut through the quiet. "It's getting late. We should head back."
Lara inclined her head in silent acknowledgment.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she began walking toward him—slowly, almost cautiously—as though each step required thought.
The wind shifted.
A soft breeze brushed past them, lifting strands of Yannis's ash-blond hair and casting them across his face. With an absent, practiced motion, he raised a hand and smoothed it back into place.
Lara stopped.
Something about that gesture tugged at her memory—faint, distant, like a dream slipping through her fingers the moment she tried to grasp it.
Her gaze lingered.
His features were striking in a way that felt… familiar. Deep-set eyes, blue as the ocean, steady yet probing. The kind of eyes that didn't just look—they observed. His sharp jawline, the quiet confidence in the way he carried himself… it all felt too vivid to be a coincidence.
