Chapter 4 — The Bridge’s Silhouettes

Harper

The late afternoon light filtered through the mist, gilding Tower Bridge with a muted golden sheen. The city hummed faintly around them—a soft medley of distant horns, the occasional hiss of a passing bus, and the rhythmic lapping of the Thames against its embankments. Harper stood at the base of the southern tower, her sketchpad tucked under one arm and her well-worn charcoal pouch dangling from her wrist. Her sharp green eyes swept over the intricate stonework that climbed into the mist, tracing its contours like threads in a tapestry.