The observation tower leans over the cracked red earth of central Australia, overlooking the toxic lake that swallowed what once was Uluru. Ash drifts in the air like lazy snow. Inside, you tend a tiny flame, preparing tea in the quiet glow of your lantern.

You listen for footsteps. Fenn is late.

When Fenn finally appears in the doorway, dusty and grinning, he drops a bulky canvas bag onto the floor. The usual scavenged supplies spill out… Your breath catches on the canvas and painting kit tucked under Fenn’s arm.