She turned the corner into the narrow street, the night air cool against her skin. This part of the city was quiet even during the day; at night, it felt abandoned. The old stone building stood between two newer structures, forgotten by time. Its windows were cracked, ivy crawling up the walls like veins. From the outside, it looked like a deserted warehouse or an old atelier left to rot.

To Livia, it was the only place where she could breathe.

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. The weight of her father’s debt sat heavy in her chest, the silence at home louder than any argument. Coming here at night was the only thing that made her feel like she was doing something. Something small. Something secret.

No one knew about this place.

No one knew about her paintings.

Two of her works had already been sold through a gallery, under a hidden name. She hadn’t told her family. She hadn’t told anyone. The money was tucked away, saved quietly, meant to help—without ever exposing her. The canvas in her bag was for the third piece. This one was still unfinished. Still only hers.

She pushed the door open and slipped inside. The space greeted her with silence. The ceiling rose high above her, pillars cutting through the shadows. Moonlight spilled in through a broken window, drawing pale lines across the dusty floor. Livia set her bag down and pulled out her canvas. Paint stains marked her fingers—proof that this was real, that this was hers.

When she lifted the brush, the world softened.

Time passed without her noticing. Colors blended into emotion. Frustration, fear, hope—she let it all bleed into the canvas. She stepped back every now and then, breathing, then leaned in again. When this piece was finished, she would leave it at a gallery too. Anonymous. Unclaimed. As she took a step back, she felt it. Movement.

A sound—soft, almost too quiet to be real. Her heart jumped. She had thought she was alone. She slowly turned toward the darkness, breath caught in her throat. A figure stood near one of the pillars, half-hidden by shadow. Someone was there.

Livia’s grip on the brush loosened.

“…This place is empty.” she said quietly, more to herself than to him.