Chapter 4 — Memories of Betrayal

Sienna

The workshop was quiet now, save for the rhythmic creak of Sienna’s chair and the soft sigh of the wind threading through the olive trees outside. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the space wrapped in the golden glow of a single desk lamp. Brushes, sketchbooks, and digital tablets lay scattered across the wooden table—abandoned tools of the day’s other artists. She was alone.