Robin realised he was staring, but he couldn’t stop. Edwin’s colourless self had taken up the white-gold of the sunlight and he looked close to ethereal, like a fairy from the book. A witch, with his familiar. Robin’s first impression was still correct. Edwin was not handsome. But from this angle, with that smile like a secret caged in glass, he had . . . something. A delicate, turbulent, Turner-sketch attractiveness that hit Robin like a clean hook to the jaw.
