He’s just about to step into Borgin and Burkes’ to question the man about his newest acqueries, flitting from shadow to shadow with ease, when he sees her. She leans against a wall, smoking a cigarette. The burning embers of the smoke cast her face in flickering silhouette, and he watches her. Smoke curls around her lips, and in that moment he would give anything to be that smoke, to wind around her and become inextricably intertwined in the mess of curls around her angular face. He releases a sharp exhale, and suddenly their gazeds are locked, and he is lost.