Martha nods, her expression calm. "I've been curating for over thirty years. This exhibit is one of the best I've seen. Probably in the top five."
My face goes hot. I duck my head slightly. "Thank you, Martha."
She raises one eyebrow and smiles. "Don't thank me. You're the artist."
A quick wink. Then she turns back to Sam.
"He also told me," Martha says, voice clear and even, "that your work is better."
All the air leaves my lungs.
I didn't expect her to say that out loud.
Sam goes completely still. She looks at me.
Martha touches Sam's arm gently. "That, my dear, puts you in an elite group of talent."
Then she walks away.
Sam opens her mouth. I wait for her to say something—anything—but before she can, I hear footsteps and voices behind us.
Wren.
The Boss Babes.
Then Liv's voice, low and stunned: "Tom. When were you going to tell us about this?"
There's a beat of silence.
Then they erupt.
Priya steps closer to the fire escape photograph. "Holy—wait, can I curse in a gallery?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "Forget it. Holyyou-know-what, Tom. When were you going to tell us?"
I laugh, embarrassed—and rub the back of my neck.
Nadia's already at the bodega window shot, leaning in. "This is incredible."
They move through the exhibit, voices layering over each other. Composition. Light. Emotion.
I'm not looking at them.
I'm looking at Sam.
She's moving through their reactions like she's floating—half-present, half somewhere else. She nods when Nadia says something, smiles faintly when Priya gestures at the stoop photograph.
But her eyes keep drifting back to the wall.
Wren waves a hand in front of my face, laughing. "Hello? Anyone there?"
I blink. Turn to her. "Sorry."
The Boss Babes are talking to Sam now.
"You didn't know?" Nadia asks, incredulous.
"Of course not," Priya says before Sam can answer. "He wouldn't want to take away from her moment."
I step closer. To Sam. And say to the group, "Let's get back to the other wing. Back to the real reason we're all here."
