The gallery was almost empty by the time the private preview ended. The journalists had left. The guests were gone. Security lingered in the hallways, their voices echoing faintly through the high ceiling.

Amara stood alone in the main exhibition room, staring at her own painting, Healing. The soft gold strokes glowed under the lights — a woman wrapped in sunlight, her eyes closed, at peace.

A version of herself she still hoped to fully become.

She exhaled slowly, letting the calm of the moment settle… until she sensed him.

She didn’t hear footsteps. She didn’t hear a breath. But the air changed, gaining weight.

Ethan stood ten feet behind...