Georgia
Darcy Valentine walked into the dining hall on a Tuesday afternoon, and everything I'd been turning over in my mind got shoved to the back entirely.
He arrived mid-lunch, flanked by an administrator giving him a brief, obviously rehearsed tour of the room. Something about the way he moved through the space caught my attention before I'd even registered why. Tall, dark haired, dressed with a kind of effortless polish that made everyone else's uniform look slightly rumpled by comparison, he walked like the room already belonged to him, like he was simply choosing, generously, to let the rest of us occupy it alongside him. A stillness clung to his confidence, as though he'd spent years perfecting the exact angle of his chin, the exact unhurried pace of his stride.
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