Lily slowed as she entered the square, the sound of her footsteps soft against the brick beneath her sandals. The afternoon light filtered through the canopy of live oaks, dappling the path ahead, but it was the house on the north side that drew her in. Its iron balconies curved outward with a kind of quiet confidence, ornate without being showy, as if they had been there long enough to know they didn’t need to impress anyone anymore.

She paused near the center of the square, taking it in, when she noticed a man standing just ahead of her, his back turned, camera lifted toward the house. He shifted slightly, adjusting his angle, clearly absorbed in the details of the ironwork and the way the shadows fell across the pale façade. Something about the familiarity of the moment made her smile. Savannah had a way of pulling people into stillness without asking.

As she stepped closer, he lowered the camera and glanced over his shoulder. “It’s impossible to capture,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Every time I think I’ve got it, the light changes.”

Lily laughed softly, surprised by how true it felt. “I think that’s the point,” she replied. He turned fully then, meeting her eyes, and for a brief moment the square seemed to hold its breath, as if the city itself was curious to see what might happen next.