Who is she?

You can't take your eyes off the redhead, that impossible shade of copper and fire catching the light like something meant to undo you.

You feel it low in your stomach — the way the curve of a bare shoulder holds more tension than any room you've walked into. You want to trace every freckle like a map you'd spend weeks memorizing.

You already know the answer doesn't matter. You lean closer to the screen anyway, pulse ticking faster, aware that whoever this is has already taken up permanent residence somewhere behind your ribs.