Nera Draven

She knew, before he did, that something was wrong. She told him so once, quietly, on a winter morning when their breath was visible in the hallway light, and then she never said it again.

She is the first person he has ever met whose smile reaches her eyes. She is the only person he has ever met whom he would describe as careful in the same breath as describing as kind.

What he doesn't know about her, he hasn't asked. He has been training himself to ask.