About three weeks later, the house was nearly finished. I had requested to do some of the final painting myself, because I’d always loved it, ever since I was a kid. It was relaxing and satisfying, covering a massive white space with something darker.
The smell of fresh paint filled the air, sharp and chemical, but oddly comforting. I dipped the roller into the tray, the deep green-black color swirling as I lifted it, careful not to drip. I’d chosen this color for my writing room. The walls were almost done now, transformed from stark white into something moodier, more alive. I liked the way the light played off the dark surface, how it made the room feel smaller, cozier — like a sanctuary.
Talon had left me to it after a brief grunt of approval. He’d been working on some wiring in the b
