[114 Days Left to Live]
The following day, Kendrick found himself standing in front of the door to his art studio. The key turned with a familiar click. The door creaked as he pushed it open. Dust lingered in the corners of the high windows. The soft smell of dried paint and wood polish greeted him. It had been a month since he last stepped inside.
He had no intention of returning any time soon, if he was being honest. But Zephany had insisted, her concern visible in her eyes. She had gently nudged him to go outside and take a break from being holed up in his room. Her soft voice still echoed in his head.
"You should go to your studio today," she had said over breakfast. "It's good for you to paint again, not just stay in the house all day."
He couldn't say no. Not to her. That was how he ended up here, in a space that once felt like an extension of his soul, now strangely unfamiliar.
