Soft Things Don’t Lie  

The weather had turned again.

 

Not with a storm, not with snow, but with the kind of grey stillness that settled deep into your bones. A cold that didn't bite, but watched. Waiting. Breathing down your neck like it knew you were wasting time.

 

March was supposed to be spring, by all intents and purposes, but March so close to the ocean meant that it could be hot, rain, snow, and hail all in the same day.

 

Seraphina adjusted the tote bag on her shoulder as she stepped off the bus. She didn't take the main road this time. Her boots crunched over a side path, frozen leaves breaking beneath each step like quiet reminders that nothing was ever still—not really.