Eloise
The city was quiet tonight. Even the usual hum of traffic beyond my window felt muted, as though the world itself was catching its breath. In the hush of my small apartment, I sat cross-legged on the carpet, pencil scratching against sketch paper illuminated by my single brass table lamp.
Max lay curled under his dinosaur-print blanket, his small chest rising and falling in even rhythm. I watched him sleep for a long while before returning to my lines and curves, shading the arch of a necklace design that mimicked the sweep of his lashes against his cheek. I had picked him up in the morning.
“Light,” I murmured to myself, pressing the pencil tip deeper into the paper, “but strong.”
My phone buzzed beside me. I flinched, heart pounding with instinctive dread. But it wasn’t Lucian
