After taking a nap, three hours blur by in a mess of layered brush strokes and color theory.
I sit cross-legged at my desk, surrounded by open sketchbooks and scattered pastel smudges. The lamp on my desk buzzes faintly, casting a warm, focused glow over everything. I've been experimenting with moodboards and abstract thumbnails for Theo's short film—soft candlelight, fabric caught midair, the way underwater movement distorts light. I lose track of time, completely absorbed.
Until the front door opens.
"Delivery from heaven," Julia calls out, her voice muffled by what I assume is a pizza box pressed against her chin. "Also, hey."
I blink up at the clock. 10.03 PM. Huh. Time decided to sprint tonight.
"Kitchen?" she asks, already halfway down the hall.
"Yeah," I say, stretching my arms over my head with a groan. My back cracks in protest. "Coming."
