Magnus rises quickly, ignoring the curious glances from the other wolves at the high table. His long strides carry him swiftly toward the exit, following the fading scents of Dorothy and Ethan into the night air.
In her studio, Dorothy lights the old oil lamps that cast a warm, flickering glow over her workspace. She prefers their gentle illumination to the harsh overhead lights, especially when working on emotionally charged pieces. The sketch of the broken heart-shaped box lies on her desk, where she left it, waiting to be developed into something more substantial.
She runs her fingers lightly over the drawing, feeling the graphite smudge beneath her touch. Vulnerability. The competition theme seems to mock her now, demanding that she transform her personal pain into something universa
