The sun had begun to lower behind the buildings across the street, casting soft amber light through the windowpanes, bending shadows across the hardwood floor. I did not move from the chair. The archive felt different now. Less like an exhibit and more like a resting breath—one held through decades of creation, loss, and return, now slowly exhaled.

Julian crossed the room with two mugs of tea. He did not speak, just handed me one and sat in the other chair across from me. His gaze swept the ...