The studio smelled like lavender oil and wet paint. Sunlight spilled across the floor in golden strips, catching on Amelia's brushstrokes as she worked. Daniel sat nearby, flipping through one of her old sketchbooks, a cup of coffee cooling in his hand.
There was a comfort growing between them now. Quiet, lived-in. No longer fueled only by ache or urgency, but by something deeper. Trust, maybe.
Then the knock came.
Three sharp raps. Confident. Unapologetic.
Amelia froze.
Daniel looked up, one brow raised. "Expecting someone?"
She shook her head slowly and wiped her hands on a rag, walking to the door. The moment she opened it, her breath hitched.
Julian Marks.
Tall, impeccably dressed, with that same disarming smile that had once undone her. His dark eyes swept over her, lingering a moment too long on the edge of her paint-stained collarbone.
"Amelia," he said, as if tasting her name. "You always did make the simplest doorway feel like a gallery entrance."
She managed a stiff smile. "Julian. What are you doing here?"
He held up a thick portfolio. "I was in town. Heard from Clarisse you've been working on something... different. Thought I'd see it for myself."
Before she could reply, Julian's eyes moved past her.
And landed on Daniel.
There was a beat. A silent sizing-up.
Julian's smile didn't falter. "I see your inspiration is... living and breathing."
Daniel rose, calm but alert. "And you are?"
"Julian Marks. Curator. Former mentor." He extended a hand like it was a challenge. "Occasional mistake."
Daniel didn't take it.
"Daniel Wolfe," he said coolly. "Muse. Occasional disaster."
Amelia could feel the tension thread between them.
"I didn't know you still kept tabs on me," she said, her tone edged.
Julian stepped inside without being invited. "You were the only artist I ever regretted letting go."
Daniel's jaw tightened.
But before either man could speak again, Amelia's phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She hesitated—then picked it up.
"Amelia Hart?"
The voice was soft, refined. Feminine. Cool, like silk draped in snow.
"Yes," she said.
"I'm sorry to intrude. My name is Isla Maren. I believe you and I share something... or rather, someone."
Amelia blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"I'm looking for Daniel Wolfe."
The name dropped like ice into the center of the room. Daniel turned slowly, his eyes narrowing.
Amelia covered the speaker. "Daniel... does the name Isla mean anything to you?"
His silence was answer enough.
On the other end, Isla's voice was now a whisper: "Tell him I'm in the city. And I never leave things unfinished."
The line went dead.
Amelia stared at Daniel.
Julian watched, intrigued.
And Daniel?
Daniel looked like a ghost had just stepped into the room.