Sophia’s P.O.V

I opened the door to my studio, the soft creak of the hinges sounding louder than usual in the quiet tension that hung between us. I stepped in first, leaving the way open for her, and then I closed the door behind us. The latch clicked shut, and that was it. Just the two of us now. No audience. No guards. No prying eyes. I folded my arms, standing by the table where brushes and unfinished canvases lay scattered like forgotten thoughts.

“Alright,” I said, my ...