You spot her between the trees, copper hair catching the afternoon light like something that was never meant to be tamed. She doesn't run.

Instead she holds your gaze, one shoulder dropped, fingers trailing the hem of her shirt with the kind of patience that makes your mouth go dry. The forest sounds disappear. There's only her, freckled skin and that slow, deliberate almost-smile.

She knows exactly what she's doing standing there, letting you look, letting the moment stretch until your chest tightens. Wild things always do.