ARIA'S POV
I pushed through the glass doors of Torres Contemporary at eight fifty and stood there for a second, just breathing it in. Floor wax. That specific cold-clean smell of white walls and filtered air. I'd missed it without knowing I missed it.
Sarah looked up from the reception desk. Her eyes went straight to my left hand. I watched her do it, watched the small flinch she tried to hide, the smile that came out a half-second too late.
"Morning, Sarah."
"Welcome back, Aria. Vincent wants to see you when you're settled."
I nodded and kept walking. I felt the awareness of the room on my skin, that particular gallery-staff silence that means everyone knows and nobody's going to say it. They were good people. That almost made it worse.
I sat at my desk. Put my bag down. Reached for
