Sophia’s P.O.V

The days blurred into weeks, each one heavier than the last with anticipation, tension, and long hours spent between the warm scent of oils and the cool glow of canvas under soft studio lights. Every moment felt like it was building toward something monumental, and though I tried to keep my hands steady, the truth was I was terrified. I, Sophia Wilson, had never shown the world who I truly was—at least not directly.

They knew The Phoenix, the reclusive artist ...