I was still sitting on the cold wooden floor of the gallery when my phone rang.

I didn’t have to look at the screen to know who it was.

Vienna always called late—when the world was quiet enough that pretending became harder.

I stared at the phone for a long second, my fingers stiff, my chest tight, before finally answering.

“Hey,” I said, forcing my voice upward, lighter than it felt. “Vi.”

There was a pause on the other end, the kind that already knew I was lying.

“Hey,” she replied softly. “I saw the photos from the soft opening. Your work looks… incredible, Lau.”

I swallowed. I pushed myself...