Roxanne's POV
Three days after my last meeting with Isaiah, we're standing outside a brick building in the Arts district—the one he spoke about, and I'm trying not to show how eager and excited I am.
“It doesn't look like much from the outside,” He says, fumbling with a set of keys the owner gave him. “But trust me.”
The door creaks from months of abandonment, and we step inside.
My eyes widen at the sight. The space is completely gutted—bare brick walls, exposed pipes running along the ceiling, and concrete floor covered in dust and debris. But besides that, one could tell how beautiful it used to be.
"Look up," Isaiah says softly.
I did, and gasp. The ceilings are at least fifteen feet high, with original exposed beans running across. Afternoon sunlight streams through the industri
