The days in the penthouse began to blur into a strange routine. Evelyn spent most of her time alone, wandering the vast spaces or sitting on the terrace with her sketchbook. On the third afternoon, she finally unpacked her art supplies — the ones she had secretly brought from home. She set up a small makeshift studio area in the corner of her bedroom near the large windows, where the natural light was best.
She hadn’t painted properly in weeks, but today the urge returned strongly. Evelyn pulled out her watercolors and a fresh sketchpad. She started with light strokes, trying to capture the Manhattan skyline at dusk — the sharp lines of buildings against the softening sky. For the first time since moving in, she felt a small piece of herself return. The brush moved across the paper, color
