Aliyah's POV

The rest of the afternoon flowed easier. Tracy showed me her studio, racks of unfinished clothes and sketches pinned to walls. She talked about fabrics and runways, about campaigns and deadlines. She let me laugh at her failed designs and even nudged me to try on a jacket she’d made.

“You look fierce,” she said when I stood before the mirror, draped in black leather with silver studs.

I laughed, the sound foreign but welcome. For the first time in weeks, I felt a sliver ...