otographs hanging on the walls-portraits, landscapes, moments of stolen beau

s a merciless tyrant, ticking away the se

cross the screen. There had to be another w

the gallery. She pleaded with him, her voice tight wi

ire your work immensely, you know that. But Mr. Harris called me himself.

nt dead. The first

ered friends. The responses were all the same. Apologetic but firm refusals. Awkward silence. The name

ting, invisible net, and sh

minut

mail, ran over, her face white as a sheet.

just ar

rembled as she

from the studio's management company. Th

Brooklyn apartment, a man named George

ny for the studio, "Apex Properties," and the holding company for her apartment building, "R

ing in spaces he owned. She had thought she had a small piece of

homeless. Her busine

flinched. It was her bes

her voice laced with concern. "I'v

g back a sob. "I'm fine, Chloe. Just

ould destroy them, too, just to make a point. Sh

her face in her hands, and a dry, silent sob shook her e

, unaware of the storm raging outside. She thought of the tiny, fragi

ilege. She had neither. All she had wa

on the clock.

yes were hollow, her expression nu

r trembling shoulder. "It's going to be okay," she lied, h

ut she nodded and gathered her things, leaving

al window darken from gray to a deep, bruised pu

dn't call him. She didn't text

ed the U

w, typed in the addres

alien, the glittering lights mocking. She felt detached from her own b

urb in front of the elegan

lead. She walked up the three sto

ing in the cold night air. She tried to suck al

her hand and pres