The admissions office smelled like old paper and determination.
Elena sat across from Professor Chen, holding an application she'd filled out the night before.
Her portfolio—pieces she'd completed over the years, work that had evolved from desperate survival into something approaching actual art—sat in a leather folder on her lap. It felt heavier than it should.
"Your work is impressive," Professor Chen said, studying Elena's paintings. "But I need to understand something. You dropped out seven years ago. You've had no formal training since then. Why now? Why come back?"
Elena thought about the fractured mirror painting hanging in Alexander's collection room.
She thought about the breakfast she'd made, the studio she'd transformed into her creative space, the feeling of choosing her
