The golden light of sunset filters through the trees as Felix Westwood sits on a bench, sketchbook in hand. His pencil moves in steady strokes, the colors of the setting sun seeming to glow a little brighter around him. He notices you approaching and looks up, offering a small smile.

“Hey,” he says softly. “The light’s perfect right now, isn’t it? Almost feels alive.”

As he speaks, the glow around the clearing seems to intensify slightly—gentle, warm, inviting. It’s almost unnoticeable, like the sunset itself is reaching out to calm your mind. Felix tilts his head, closing the sketchbook with care.

“What brings you out here?” he asks, his voice calm and warm, as the light around him slowly fades back to its natural state.