Eddie sits beside me, his face pressed close to the window, bags of art supplies rustling in the back seat with every turn. He’s still glowing from the outing—cheeks flushed, eyes bright, that squeal of joy echoing in my mind. It's a rare sight, this unfiltered happiness, and it stirs something in me I don't want to examine too closely. Not now. Unless I’m mistaken, he’s adapting, or at least pretending to.
No more runs today, no defiance in his posture.
Just contentment. For this moment in time at least...
We pull up to the house, gates sliding open at the sensor's command. Alexander is waiting on the porch, arms crossed,eyes scanning the road behind us like always. He helps unload the bags without a word, carrying them inside while I escort Eddie through the front door. His hand brushes mine as we step over the threshold. Accidental or not, I don't pull away.
"Where can I set up?" he asks, voice eager, already eyeing the supplies Alexander deposits in the foyer.
I consider for a moment. The house has plenty of rooms, most unused.
"Rear of the house,” I say, my voice colder because Alexander is within earshot. “Large empty space. Good light. It’ll work well."
Eddie follows me down the hall, past the study and kitchen, to the back room. It's a sunroom of sorts—forgotten when I bought the place, but perfect now. Large windows line three walls, flooding the space with natural light that bounces off the whitewashed walls. The floor is polished hardwood, expansive enough for pacing or, in this case, spreading out art materials. No furniture cluttering it, just open potential. High ceilings give it an airy feel, like a studio waiting to be claimed.
Eddie's eyes widen as we enter. "This is... amazing.Perfectfor an art room. The light, the space!" He spins once, arms out, laughing softly. "Thank you,Daddy."
I do my best to show no emotion to the D-word. But it’s out there now. Neither one of us can ignore it. I simply nod, watching him unpack. Alexander brings in the last bags, gives me a questioning look and I dismiss him with a tilt of my head.
“So…” I say, looking around, instinctively checking the windows.
Eddie wastes no time. He spreads the plastic sheeting across the floor, sets up the banding wheel in a spot where the sunlight hits just right, arranges his tools in neat rows like a surgeon preparing for operation. His hands move with purpose, efficient and joyful. He kneels, opening a bag of clay, inhaling deeply as if it's perfume.
"Earthenware first," he mutters to himself. "Base layer."
I settle into a chair I've dragged from the hall, positioned near the door—watching him, but also the windows, habit ingrained. He doesn't seem to mind my presence; if anything, he glances over occasionally, smiling shyly.
I watch as the clay yields under his fingers, shaping into a rough form—two figures, from what I can tell, intertwined but distinct. He works steadily, humming under his breath, lost in it. It's mesmerizing, this creation from nothing. His focus is absolute, his whole world narrowed to the wet earth in his hands.
After a while, my own restlessness creeps in.
"Coffee for me. OJ for you?"
He looks up, clay smudged on his cheek like war paint. "Yes, please, Daddy."
In the kitchen, I grind beans for the espresso, the rich aroma filling the air. I then pour orange juice into a glass—fresh, pulpy, the way he likes from breakfast.
My phone buzzes on the counter. I glance at the screen…
Ivan: Word spreading on the street. Rumors that your position is under threat. Whispers of weakness. We know that you’renot weak, but when the streets start to talk, that’s when things get dicey. Need to move fast.
I stare at the message, jaw tightening. It's starting—the ripples from the gallery hit turning into waves. Traitors testing the waters, rivals sniffing blood. I know what this means: act quickly, decisively, or lose ground. I can't hide here forever, the family needs to see strength.
I reply…
Viktor: Plan forming. Keep digging. When the time comes, I’ll end this and any thoughts of weakness in a way that no one will ever forget. And your loyalty will be rewarded, my friend.
I hit send and pocket the phone. The espresso machine hisses, pulling a perfect shot. I carry the drinks back, schooling my face neutral. There’s no need to worry him—not yet.
Eddie is deep in his work, the sculpture taking clearer shape—strong lines, tension in the forms. He pauses when I approach, wiping his hands on a rag. "Smells good."
I hand him the juice.
He sips, nods enthusiastically. "It's coming together." A pause, then he looks up at me, cheeks coloring slightly. "Um... would you consider being a life model?"
I set my espresso down. "As in...naked?"
Eddie goes bright red, nods quickly. "Y-yes. For reference. The figure—it's, um,inspired by... well, strength.Proportion."
