Theo’s studio was in an old red-brick building, hidden at the end of a narrow street. They climbed two flights of stairs in silence, their steps echoing against the walls. With each step, Alys felt her body grow more awake. It wasn’t fear. It was the exact tension that precedes touch—that thin line between desire and vertigo.

Theo unlocked the door and pushed it open with his shoulder. The interior was plunged into a warm twilight. Amber lamps hung from the ceiling, casting soft shadows ...