familiar scent of turpentine and oil paint filled her lungs, a stark contrast to the sterile, expe

om, her fingers tracing the outline of an unfinished landscape. She had not touched a

hing the city lights outside her window slowly fade as dawn broke. The decision sh

re closing in. She changed out of her silk robe and into a simple pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater, forgoing the designer clo

sh. She pulled a pair of dark sunglasses from her purse and slid them over her

the only sound in her ears. *Find something that brings you peace,* Dr. Hanson's voice echoed in her memory from l

glass windows of Galerie Glass took up the

cape. The colors were muted, capturing the heavy, still air right be

e felt a phantom sensation of a woode

side. The air conditioning cooled the sweat on the

he read the small plaque next to it. T

ouds on the canvas. The storm in the painting match

is is the one I w

l voice shatt

y. A woman in a tailored designer suit and a

ked Dayami up and down. Her eyes lingered on Dayami's simp

ep to the left, putting distance between

gallery assistant wh

Wrap it up." Helen's ton

looking uncomfortable

ing at it first. According to gallery policy, w

er face flushed with irritation. She

e even affor

placed a hand

n, be

shed around, ignored, and treated like an object in her own home. She came here for five mi

f her face. She looked directly at the gall

is the p

hard. He stated a number

sp, clearly waiting for Dayami

ers bypassed her own debit card and pulled out the heavy,

out to the

ll ta

l as if she were buyi

pen. The smug smile van

for a full second before his professional train

r head and looke

y five minutes of quiet. You can tell your staff I will

uring her voice carrie

er sides. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She had j