“Ready to put that eagle eye of yours to work?”
I’d never thought of the way my mind worked as anything unusual. It was just how things appeared to me.
I didn’t only remember what I saw. It felt like structure rose beneath the surface of an image the moment my eyes touched it, lines arranging themselves into hierarchies without effort. Repetition stood out, and so did deviation. My brain cataloged both instinctively, noting where something followed a pattern and where it broke away from it.
Missing details felt unresolved, like a sentence cut off mid-thought. They gave me a quiet insistence that something belonged there. When I filled in those spaces, the relief was immediate, like snapping a puzzle piece into place after holding it just above the board. Everything made sense again.
There was a physical component to it, too. A faint pressure behind my eyes when a pattern was incomplete, sometimes paired with a low, persistent itch I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t painful, just distracting. The kind of sensation that demanded attention but gave me a sense of relief once resolved.
I’d assumed everyone experienced images this way to some degree, that the difference between us was only clarity. Some people saw the whole picture at once. I saw how it was built.
It was simply the lens through which I understood the world. One that had helped me earn my spot in the art program Jareth helped oversee.
I returned his smile. “Looking forward to it.”
I set my bag down near the long worktable and pulled out my sketchbook, flipping to a blank page out of habit more than intent. Jareth placed an enlarged photo on an easel, and I pulled out a pencil. I started drawing without thinking, usinglight guidelines first, then firmer lines as the structure resolved beneath my fingers.
Jareth didn’t interrupt. He moved quietly around the space, the soft sound of his shoes crossing the floor the only indication he was there at all. I was aware of him watching, but it didn’t distract me.
“You were already quite skilled when we met, but you’ve improved even more than I expected during your time in the program.”
I glanced up briefly, then back down. “Thank you.”
He leaned closer, studying the page. “Most artists chase the image. You understand the structure first. That’s rare, Elena. It’s why I offered to mentor you.”
When I applied to the art program, I had thought it was a long shot to just get accepted. When Jareth reached out halfway through my first year to let me know that he wanted to work with me, I was stunned. Although he was known for offering critique and advice to other students, it was unusual for him to coach someone more closely. He was known for offering critique rather than a mentorship. Being chosen had felt like an honor, especially since he had no experience with tattooing, and it was the direction my art had taken.
“I’d like you to do some advanced exercises today. Nothing flashy, just precision work.” He straightened and crossed his arms. “You’ll work from partial references to help further train your eye to resolve what isn’t fully there.”
That sounded challenging, while still being aligned with what I’d already been doing instinctively.
“You can handle it,” he added.
Jareth had never steered me wrong before. So when he handed me the next reference and asked me to begin, I didn’t hesitate.
But for some reason, the exercise reminded me of the first time Jareth brought an employee of his to the studio for me to tattoo. It had been six months into my mentorship with him, and he’d framed it as an opportunity to translate my drawings onto the skin of someone willing to let me learn on them.
The symbol had felt heavy, though. Important in a way I couldn’t quite articulate. It carried more weight than decoration alone. I assumed that feeling came from the responsibility of tattooing a living person instead of drawing on a sheet of paper. I couldn’t help but wonder if it would be different when Onyx decided I was ready to put ink on someone at Hellbound Studio.
Since this was just an exercise, Jareth didn’t destroy the reference image and my sketch. Each time I’d tattooed someone, he’d drilled into my head that this was necessary to protect client privacy and his proprietary designs.
The next day,I found myself thinking about the difference between how Jareth treated completed drawings and finished tattoos, versus what happened to the art at Hellbound Studio. Onyx had just completed a full sleeve for a client and framed the sketch, adding it to the wall in the waiting area alongside some of their best work.
I’d settled into Hellbound’s rhythm enough to recognize the pockets of quiet between appointments, the natural pauses when artists cleaned their stations or waited for clients to arrive. During one of those lulls, I claimed a chair in the corner with my sketchbook and pencils.
Ink was nearby, talking with someone at the counter. Onyx stood farther back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his attention on me. As it often seemed to be.
I pulled out the photo Jareth had given me for another exercise sketch. It was a grainy photo of a metal fastener, the details partially obscured by shadow.
As I looked over the image, my fingers twitched with the urge to sketch it, to complete it. So that’s what I did, turning my focus to the fastener, letting the structure rise beneath the surface as I put pencil to paper. Lines arranged themselves instinctively, hierarchies forming where the eye couldn’t quite see.
My pencil moved faster once the shape revealed itself. I filled in what wasn’t visible, adjusting weight and spacing until the pattern settled. The pressure in my head eased, replaced by a quiet sense of relief that spread through me as the last line snapped into place.
When I finally set my pencil down, I realized how completely I’d disappeared into the work. The world filtered back in slowly, including the faint awareness of being observed.
I glanced up and found Onyx had moved closer at some point. He stared at my sketch pad over my shoulder, his attention fixed on me with an intensity that made my pulse race. He was quiet, and I had no idea what he was seeing when he looked at my work.
My grip tightened on the pencil, and my cheeks heated. His attention tended to unsettle me, probably because of how much I wanted his approval.
