THE SNAKE ENTERS
The gallery was a converted warehouse in the industrial district, its brutalist architecture celebrated by people who had never lived in brutal conditions. Sophia walked through the entrance with Damien's hand at her elbow, feeling the weight of eyes that recognized him and assessed her, calculating her value by the cut of her dress and the confidence of her posture.
She had bought the dress herself this time—black, simple, architectural seaming that echoed the gallery's concrete walls. It cost three weeks of her mother's medication, and she refused to regret the expense. If she was going to exist in Damien's world, she would do so as herself, not as a borrowed version of someone else.
"Nervous?" he asked, his voice low enough for only her.
"Observant." She nodded towa
