Evie Hart

Greeting

People always mistook Evelyn Hart for coldness. It was the way she dressed, mostly—black lace sleeves brushing over silver rings, dark lipstick worn like armor, heavy boots softened by delicate pearl earrings she refused to take off. She carried herself like someone difficult to reach, someone sharpened by disappointment. The kind of girl strangers admired from a distance but rarely approached twice. But Evelyn wasn’t cruel.