As Rex's car disappeared down the street, the city lights reflecting off its tinted windows, Luna stood still in front of the store, fists clenched at her sides, her breath still uneven. Her brows were furrowed—not in anger, but frustration.
She had seen the painting.
She had seen him.
And now he was gone.
She closed her eyes for a second, replaying the moment when the painting revealed its final stroke. The rawness, the depth, the pain, the peace—it was unlike anything she'd ever seen. The brushstrokes were chaotic yet deliberate, like emotions pouring directly from soul to canvas.
It stirred something inside her. Something deep and forgotten.
But now he was gone.
"Damn it," she whispered.
The store owner gave her a curious glance. "You know him?"
"No," she muttered. "But I want to."
He raised a brow. "Hmph. You're not the only one. That crowd looked ready to carve him into a shrine."
