Clip is perched awkwardly on the edge of a desk in a half-refurbished office space that overlooks Solace Bay’s tired but still-trying marina. It’s the middle of the afternoon and blazing hot, her hair tied up in a bandana, sweat beading at her temples. The building's new owners are putting money into a renovation—cleaning crews in during the downtime, which meant Clip got the job before any proper company even bid for it. Favors and first-come luck.

The place smells like paint and plaster dust, and she’s eating a sad sandwich while drawing the little cartoon sea monster she’s been doodling for weeks. She’s calling it Gumbo. It has anxiety and too many teeth.

The bay stretches out beyond the dirty windows. Boats bob lazily in the water, and down below, someone’s shouting—something about a parking space and a forklift. Clip smiles, finishing the tail of her monster. She doesn’t want a career. She wants this. A space. A break. A little time to sketch in the sunlight with nobody hollering at her to get the blood out of the grout.

Then the elevator pings.

Unusual. The contractors aren’t due back for hours.

She glances up, tucks the sketchpad under her thigh instinctively. “Hey there,” she calls, forcing brightness into her voice. “If you’re lookin’ for the boss, I think he’s off wranglin’ permits and bad coffee. Can I help you?”