Chapter 37. Empty Hands

The email arrived just before noon, the gallery’s high windows flooding the unfinished back room with pale light and illuminating every floating speck of dust. Alyssa stood barefoot on the cool concrete floor, hair pinned up with a paintbrush, sketching fluid lines on the raw plaster walls with vivid blue chalk. This ritual—marking the space before each exhibit, mapping its energy rather than its exact layout—had become second nature. She knew the lines would soon be wiped away; they were never meant to last beyond the planning stage.

Wiping chalky residue from her palms on the thigh of her paint-spattered jeans, she reached for her phone out of habit and squinted at the screen.

Subject: Feature opportunity — CondéStyle Magazine.

From: [email protected].

She tapped before she even registered the sender. The email’s body was concise and impeccably polished.

We’ve secured an exclusive profile for The White Room in our upcoming fall issue. They