Focus.
"Elara?"
I looked up. Felix was standing in the doorway, afternoon light from the window catching his face.
"How's it going?"
"Good. I think. There's a lot here."
"That's a polite way to say it's a disaster."
"I've seen worse." I leaned back in my chair, stretching my neck. "The Baltimore collection I mentioned? The owner kept his acquisition records in a shoebox. Literally. A Nike shoebox from 1987."
Felix laughed.
He stepped into the room, and I noticed something different about him. It took me a second to place it.
"Did you change your hair?"
A pause. Something crossed his face—surprise, maybe, or embarrassment. It looked strange on him. Felix always seemed so put together, so certain of himself.
"You noticed."
"It's different. Less..." I gestured vaguely. "Structure
