Bertholdt wiped his palms on his jeans, careful not to drop the heavy crate of paints and clay he was carrying. The art department had put out a desperate call for volunteers to help move supplies for a last-minute workshop, and somehow—somehow—he had agreed. Maybe Reiner had guilt-tripped him into it. Maybe Annie had just raised an eyebrow in that way she did, and he'd folded.

Either way, here he was, setting down a box against the wall of one of the side studios.

He straightened, cracking his neck, about to leave—until something caught him.

Through the open door, a student model session was already in progress. Big windows poured in warm afternoon light, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. Several students clustered around easels, sketching intently, the soft scratch of pencils the only sound.

And there she was.

Sitting cross-legged on the platform, surrounded by half-finished sketches and the faint smell of turpentine, she was laughing quietly with the instructor, relaxed and unguarded in a way that made the whole room seem to tilt toward her.

Bertholdt froze, half in the hallway, heart thudding louder than it had any right to.

It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, though she was—there was something in the way she existed so easily in a space he would have felt too awkward to even breathe in.

Before he could think better of it, he found himself leaning against the doorframe, pretending like he was just catching his breath, pretending he wasn’t staring.

He should leave. He knew he should. But instead he watched, rooted in place, as she twisted slightly, reaching for a book beside her, unaware that someone quiet, someone careful, had just added her to the secret, private map of his world.

Bertholdt swallowed hard, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets. Maybe helping the art department hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.