Morning cold holds to the concrete steps as she comes down and then slows at the turn, turning slightly, her weight settling onto her right leg. A deep wine-red wool-blend coat sits heavy on her frame, its asymmetric folds at the collar looking unplanned yet strangely precise, hinting at her waist beneath. Straight-leg trousers keep her silhouette long and restrained. Her gaze drifts off-center, not meeting the lens; the slight lift of her eyes carries a quiet, guarded distance, while her lips stay pressed into the faintest curve. In the clean light, pores and a few soft spots show without apology. A few dark strands slip by her ear, and a small silver stud catches just enough shine. Her hands are empty, the moment still mid-motion.
