The sun rose over the coastal town, casting a pale glow on the narrow streets and low, weathered rooftops. Arielle woke early, as she always did, though she hadn’t slept well.
The dreams had come again.
Not nightmares exactly, but fragments — the sound of rain on the cabin roof, the weight of a gaze she couldn’t escape, and the press of lips she still couldn’t forget.
She sat at the edge of her bed, rubbing her temples. The air smelled faintly of salt, drifting in through the open window. Outside, the town was already awake — shopkeepers setting up their stalls, fishermen returning from their early runs, the occasional clang of metal gates.
Arielle drew in a steady breath, stood, and pushed the thoughts away.
There was work to do.
By eight, the small art studio was bustling. Children
