Clarke had gotten out ahead of him tonight and was already standing with the girls, his posture that enviable one of ease and expectation, all fluid motion as he gestured about something or another. He couldn’t seem to talk without using his hands.

Lily spotted Zivon before Clarke and Miss Ivy did, her smile taking the place of the sunshine that had hidden behind the mist. That was the usual way—the other two were always so busy gazing at each other that they never seemed to notice him or Lily, which they both found amusing. She greeted him now with a lifted hand, shifting away from her companions in expectation of his arrival.

A smile settled on his mouth. She always lured it out. There was something about the way she looked at him—the way she looked at everything—that warmed that place inside that usually felt as frozen as a Siberian winter.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” she said once he’d drawn near, her eyes sparkling.

He laughed and wiped at his face. “Were I a duck, I would heartily agree.”

Grinning, she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as had become her habit, and they began to walk. Her sister and Clarke would no doubt fall in behind them when they realized they’d been abandoned. “I do actually like this weather. The way the light plays on it is astounding. Just look.” With her free hand, she motioned toward the lake.

Though there was no direct sun, evening light still permeated the clouds. There were patches dark as pewter, others glowing silver, some nearly white. And the mist, annoying as it was on his face, did add a gilding to it all, catching that soft light and spreading it around.

His breath eased out. “I have never noticed that before.” But that was Lily.

He paused on the path before she could press on his arm. Three weeks had been sufficient to train him in her patterns. “Here?”

She laughed even as she drew her camera out of its home in her pocket. “I think here will do quite nicely. To start.”

Always to start. Walking with her was an exploration of angles and light, things he’d never before paused to appreciate. He stayed close to her side as she took her shots, bending down when she did to see the world from the same angle, at least momentarily. But even so, he knew she’d surprise him when she showed him the prints. She always did.

She fiddled now with the light and focus mechanisms. Then her fingers found the cord that led to the push-pin, trailed down it in that way they always did. A moment later, the shutter snapped closed, opened again. She shifted just a bit, fiddled for a single second with something, and then pushed it again. Another shift. Another push.