Episode 4

Luca liked the silence of the art studio better than anywhere else. The scent of paint and turpentine, the faint scratch of pencil on paper it was predictable, controllable, and infinitely safer than people. Here, he could exist without being seen too closely. He could create, hide, and fold himself into the corners of the room just like he did in life.

His classmates were scattered around the studio, working on projects for the semester. The chatter, the bursts of laughter, the occasional complaint it all seemed distant, like it belonged to someone else’s world. Luca kept his focus on the canvas in front of him, sketching lines he didn’t want anyone to notice.

He often wondered why he even came to class some days. Art had been his refuge, yes, but it also reminded him of how small he felt outside it. He was quietly talented, meticulous, careful, but no one seemed to notice the effort he put into his work. Praise came to the loudest, the boldest. Luca was neither.

The brush in his hand shook slightly as he mixed colors for his latest piece. A muted palette of grays, blues, and dark greens safe, unassuming colors, just like him. He imagined throwing in bright reds or yellows, bold streaks that demanded attention, but he couldn’t. Not when he was so used to being invisible.

A voice broke his concentration. “Hey, Reed, you’re working late again?”

It was Mara, one of the few classmates who had noticed him enough to speak. She was cheerful, loud, and annoyingly persistent. Luca managed a small nod without looking up.

“Yeah… just finishing up.” His voice was low, careful.

She leaned over his shoulder, peering at the canvas. “You always pick these dark colors. I feel like you’re hiding something.”

Luca stiffened. “I’m just… experimenting.”

Mara frowned but didn’t push further. She knew when he didn’t want to talk. That was the thing about Lucahe let people in only if he wanted to. It was rare.

Once she moved away, Luca returned his attention to the painting, but his thoughts wandered, as they often did, to the previous night. Victor Hale. The name felt heavy in his mind. It wasn’t just the encounter it was the way Victor’s eyes seemed to assess him, as though weighing what he could endure and what he couldn’t. The memory made his fingers tighten around the brush.

Luca hated that he was thinking about it. He hated that he felt unsettled, that his quiet, orderly world had been touched by someone who seemed to notice things he didn’t want noticed. He tried to refocus on the brushstrokes, blending shadows over the canvas, but the memory lingered, subtle as the undertone of the turpentine in the air.

After class, he retreated to the small apartment he shared with his cat, a gray tabby named Miso. It wasn’t much, but it was his. A space he could control completely. He boiled water for instant noodles and sat on the floor, leaning against the worn sofa, sketchbook open on his lap. Even here, he felt the echo of Victor’s presence, the way it hung in his mind like an unfinished sketch.

Luca tried to push it away. He told himself that Victor was a stranger, a man with no reason to matter. And yet, the way Victor had observed him… it wasn’t like anyone else. It wasn’t casual. It was deliberate, precise, and dangerous in a way he couldn’t name.

The apartment grew colder as night deepened. Miso purred softly beside him, seeking warmth and attention. Luca allowed himself a small smile, stroking the cat’s fur. It was comforting, grounding, reminding him that some things were simple, uncomplicated, and safe.

Luca didn’t yet understand what he would do when that quiet, deliberate notice became persistent, when someone like Victor Hale decided he was worth attention.

For now, though, he kept his head down and let the silence wrap around him.

It was safe here. For the moment, at least.

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