Chapter 3: The First Pencil Stroke
The room was remarkably clean despite its modest size, smelling faintly of lavender soap and old paper. Julian stood beside the narrow iron cot, his dark eyes tracing the soft curves of a sleeping child’s face. She looked roughly three years old, with wisps of blonde hair curling against her damp forehead and pale skin that mirrored Maren’s delicate features. A light flush of fever tinged her cheeks, but her breathing was steady now.
Maren moved quietly to the bedside, placing a cool, damp cloth across the child's forehead. "Her name is Lily," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the small bedside heater. "I chose it because she loves the wildflowers that grow by the river near my hometown."
Julian reached out a trembling hand, hovering just inches above the edge of the blanket before slowly pulling back. He had signed millions of dollars in corporate contracts, negotiated hostile
