“I need time, Sandra. Not to run away, but to find myself,” Evelyn said softly, her eyes fixed on her phone screen, fingers hesitantly yet steadily typing a reply to her manager in Paris.

She was at a small train station on the outskirts of Nagano, dressed in a gray wool coat and a hand-knitted scarf. Her hair was down naturally, her face bare of makeup. There was no stage glamour, no spotlight. Only the sound of passing trains and the rustling of dry leaves blown by the mountain wind.

After the international art conference in Tokyo ended, Evelyn was supposed to return straight to Paris to prepare for her...