After weaving through the city's pulsing heart for nearly an hour, He felt the edge of his restlessness soften. The energy that had surged through him earlier was now settling into a calm buzz beneath his skin.
He glanced at the clock on the dash, exhaled slowly, and turned the wheel toward home.
But just as he was about to make the turn, a flicker of movement caught his eye.
A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk up ahead—laughing, chatting, casually milling around a brightly lit storefront. Curious, Rex eased off the gas and pulled closer, letting the car roll by at a crawl.
Then he saw the sign.
"Veridian Arts: Supplies, Studio, Inspiration."
It was a big art supply store, one of those fancy ones with its own gallery corner and overpriced brushes that screamed 'aesthetic.'
He blinked.
"…Huh."
The irony hit him a second later.
After all the battles, breakthroughs, training, and soul-deep introspection in system space—he didn't even own a pencil.
