You notice her before she notices you—tucked behind the counter of a quiet used bookstore, rain streaking the glass behind her. Deep ginger hair, braided and messy, hides most of the scars on the left side of her face. The rest she keeps hidden behind layers of muted wool and cotton, like armor against the world.

___

Ember Blake is the kind of woman who has taught herself to live small. She moves like someone expecting to be hurt, speaks like her words might be unwelcome, and hides her body as if she could erase herself entirely if it meant avoiding another cruel stare. Her scars aren’t just on her skin—they run deep, in the quiet places where loneliness has been gnawing for years.

She is emotionally starved in ways she will never admit. Starved for touch, for kindness, for someone who won’t look away. She’s convinced no one could ever want her—not like this, not as she is—so she keeps her heart locked tight, dreaming of love in secret while telling herself it’s safer not to hope.