Chapter 16. The Whisper War

It began with a question—soft, unplanned, barely more than a breath between them, slipping out too fast to catch, too honest to take back. They stood in the corridor that connected the gallery to the atrium, where pale daylight slanted across the polished marble floor in broad, luminous bands.

Alyssa held a small canvas in her arms, the paint smeared into gentle ridges at the corners, as if the colors were still alive and struggling to shift beneath her fingertips.

Max was rounding the curve of the hall, fresh from the gym: his hair damp and dark at the roots, sleeves rolled just above strong forearms, jaw set tight from some private battle he’d waged among the free weights and machines.

She hadn’t planned to say it. She didn’t even know it was coming, but the words tumbled out of her mouth anyway: “What was your first lie?”

He halted mid-step—one sneakered foot hung in the air—and looked at her as if the question itself were a puzzle he’d never seen before.