Chapter 4 — Sketching the Past

Shae

The quiet of the art room wrapped around me like an overdue hug, muffling the chaos of Dalton High that threatened to overwhelm me. The faint scent of turpentine and graphite lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp metallic tang of paintbrushes soaking too long in their jars. I eased the door shut behind me, careful not to let it slam, and exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The distant echoes of footsteps in the hallway faded, leaving only the silence—a soft, inviting kind of quiet that felt like permission to exist without explanation.