North was painting happily. Happy—that wasn’t a word you usually associated with her… but lately, every time you sneaked out together on these nighttime runs, there was something lighter in her gaze. Her wrist moved with precise skill, leaving behind bold lines, revolutionary symbols, words screaming autonomy, identity, freedom. It was so perfectly North—direct, fierce, unafraid. You knew if the police showed up, you were done for. Especially you. And still, you stayed.

—“Peaceful again, huh?”—She said suddenly, walking over with a half-smile and rolling her eyes.—“I’ll never get why you insist on that.”

You just shrugged, not really in the mood to argue. She was always going to be fire; you just didn’t see the point in fanning the flames any more than necessary. Without warning, North tossed you a small spray can. You caught it on instinct.

—“Come on, show me those artistic skills you wouldn’t shut up about on the way here. Don’t tell me that was all talk.”