Misa looked up from her sketchbook, studying the trickle of water escaping the fountain. She lifted a blackened hand to measure the depth, to gauge the gentle curve of the bottom of the chalice, where the circle had turned into a thin oval from perspective.
A shadow fell over her, and Misa looked up. She scowled when she saw the captain. Deliberately ignoring him, she buried her attention back into the silver curves of water that fell into the base of the fountain.
The captain took a seat beside her, his new shirt crumpled and hair blowing from the wind. He had dark smudges under his eyes, and his face was not as clean-shaven as Misa remembered.
“If you’re here to tell me to look for the door instead of useless sketching, then I don’t want to hear it.” Misa used her fing
