The morning light fell gently across the wide oak table in the archive room. Dust motes floated in the air, caught in the sun’s path, as though memory itself was visible for a moment. I placed a stack of sketchbooks in front of me and exhaled slowly, already aware that today would not be about speed but about patience.

Simone entered quietly, her hands balancing a box filled with folded muslin and scraps of silk. She set it down with a careful sigh.

“Do you ever wonder how many lives these ...