Sara stepped out of the art store, the door chime ringing behind her as she entered the bustling street. The early afternoon sunlight hit her face, warm but not too bright, the shadows of nearby buildings stretching long across the sidewalk. The city was alive with the sounds of traffic and distant chatter, the pulse of daily life carrying her forward. She hadn't intended to spend much time in the store today, but she found herself lingering, sifting through old sketchbooks and paints, hoping something might spark.
As she made her way down the street, her thoughts wandered back to the woman from the coffee shop. Elizabeth Rivers. The name had surfaced after Sara took a closer look at the business card the woman had left behind at The Velvet Brew. Elegant white lettering spelled out Elizabeth Rivers, followed by nothing but a phone number. No title. No company. Just a name that felt heavier than it should have. The simplicity of it only made her more curious, especially since Sara couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this woman than she let on.
Turning the corner, she walked past the small art galleries that lined the street, their windows showcasing abstract pieces and sculptures. The art district had always felt like a second home to her, even if it didn't bring her the recognition she'd hoped for. Here, among the muted colors of the surrounding buildings, Sara felt a sense of purpose. She could lose herself in the sketches, the paintings, the displays of creativity. But lately, something about the city felt off—more distant, more quiet than usual.
It was then that she spotted Elizabeth. Standing across the street, her back to Sara, she was speaking to a man in a dark coat. They seemed to be in an intense conversation, but Sara couldn't hear the words. Something about the way Elizabeth held herself, the poised yet guarded manner in which she spoke, intrigued her. The woman's face was still partially obscured by the brim of her hat, but the air of mystery was unmistakable.
Sara hesitated for a moment unsure of what to do. She hadn't expected to run into Elizabeth again. She glanced at the ground, trying to ignore the sudden spike of nerves in her chest. She didn't need to approach. There was no reason to involve herself. But her curiosity got the better of her.
Taking a slow breath, she crossed the street, moving toward a bench just a few steps away from where Elizabeth stood. She kept her gaze on the sidewalk, avoiding eye contact, though she couldn't help but listen, her heart racing a little faster as she drew closer. Elizabeth's words were too soft to catch, but the man's gestures were sharp, almost accusing. Something about the exchange felt… off.
When Elizabeth turned her head, Sara immediately looked away, her pulse quickening. But it was too late. Elizabeth's sharp eyes had already caught hers, locking onto her in a brief, but intense, moment of recognition. Sara's breath caught in her throat, her body still, the air between them thick with something unspoken.
The man gave one last gesture, and without another word, Elizabeth turned away, her heels clicking against the pavement as she moved down the street, leaving Sara standing there, wondering if their brief encounter had been anything more than a coincidence.
Sara let out a slow breath, her heart still pounding. She debated for a moment whether to follow Elizabeth, but then she dismissed the thought. It was probably nothing—just another random meeting between strangers. But why did it feel so… charged?
Shaking her head, Sara forced herself to move on, heading toward her art studio. The city felt different now, the streets darker somehow, but Sara didn't stop. She needed to focus. She had her work to do. After all, the only thing that had ever felt real to her was the art she created.
As she entered her studio, a familiar quietness washed over her, the heavy door creaking as it closed behind her. The stillness inside was almost comforting. The soft hum of the radio played in the background, and she inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scents of oil paint and fresh canvas. This space, filled with half-finished pieces and scattered sketches, was where she could escape from everything. It was her sanctuary. Yet, as she crossed the room to pick up a fresh canvas, the weight of her encounter with Elizabeth hung over her like a cloud.
She ran her fingers across the smooth surface of the canvas, but her mind was miles away. The city outside felt distant, the world beyond the studio's walls almost unreal. But the brief moment with Elizabeth had shattered that illusion. There was something about the way she looked at Sara, that made her feel… unsettled. Sara couldn't explain why, but the feeling of being watched, of being pulled into something beyond her understanding, lingered.
Pulling herself from the reverie, Sara set to work. The brush in her hand felt natural, the strokes flowing without much thought as the colors and shapes took—the act of creating. But even as she painted, she couldn't shake the image of Elizabeth, her calm yet distant expression, her knowing glance. It was as if the woman had seen right through her, into something Sara hadn't been ready to confront.
For now, though, Sara pushed all thoughts of the encounter away, focusing solely on her art. The canvas before her was her only connection to the present, to something she could control. And as she worked, the outside world and its mysteries faded just a little further from her mind.
The hours passed in a blur. Time always seemed to slip away when Sara was in her studio, her focus wholly consumed by the work in front of her. The painting had taken on a life of its own, the colors dark and moody, blending into something that was almost like a stormy sky. Deep greys swirled with shadowed blues, broken only by faint streaks of white. It wasn't what she had planned to create, but she hadn't been able to stop herself.
She set the brush down and stepped back, wiping her hands absentmindedly on the paint-smeared rag hanging from her pocket. The painting stared back at her, something raw and unspoken woven into the brushstrokes. It reminded her of something—no, someone. Elizabeth Rivers. The sharp contrast, the elegant streaks of light against darkness, mirrored the way Elizabeth had seemed to carry something heavy yet hidden, her calm exterior betraying nothing but hints of something deeper.
Sara exhaled and ran a hand through her hair, only to realize she'd streaked paint across her forehead. She huffed a small laugh at herself, reaching for a rag to clean it off. It was moments like this that reminded her how much she lived for these quiet stretches of time. She didn't need answers here, didn't need explanations for the questions that often churned in her head. In her art, there was only expression—no judgment, no masks.
A low buzz startled her, the sound of her phone vibrating on the nearby table. It rattled against the wood until she grabbed it, glancing at the screen. An unknown number. Her heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she hesitated, fingers hovering over the answer button.
Sara didn't normally pick up calls from unknown numbers. Too many telemarketers, too many awkward exchanges that she preferred to avoid. But something about this felt different. She thought again of Elizabeth's black business card, the stark white letters spelling out her name as clearly as if it had been burned into Sara's mind.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she answered.
"Hello?"
A pause. Then, a familiar voice, low and smooth. "Sara?"
She froze. "Elizabeth?"
"Yes. Sorry for the surprise." Elizabeth's tone was calm but had a quiet edge, as though she were carefully choosing her words. "I hope this isn't a bad time."
Sara glanced at her painting, then at the clock on the wall. It was nearly sunset, the sky outside tinged with orange and purple. "I…It's fine," she said, more curious than she was willing to admit. "How did you get my number?"
"You're listed as a contact at The Velvet Brew," Elizabeth replied matter-of-factly. "I needed to speak with you."
Sara frowned slightly, unsure whether she should be flattered or concerned. "About what?"
There was a pause on the other end. Sara could hear faint street noises in the background as if Elizabeth were calling from somewhere outdoors. Then Elizabeth spoke again, her voice lower, more serious this time. "Can we meet?"
Sara blinked. "Meet? Why?"
"I'll explain when we see each other. It's important."
Sara hesitated. This was weird, wasn't it? She'd only spoken to Elizabeth twice, and neither interaction had given her any answers about who the woman truly was. But something about Elizabeth's tone—firm, unwavering—made it hard to say no. It wasn't a request; it was almost a certainty like Elizabeth already knew Sara would agree.
"Okay," Sara heard herself say before she could stop. "Where?"
Elizabeth rattled off an address—a small diner a few blocks from Sara's studio—and said she'd be there in half an hour. The call ended before Sara could ask any more questions.
She lowered the phone, staring at the black screen as if it might offer her answers. What am I doing? she muttered to herself, pacing a few steps across the studio. The whole situation felt strange, yet her curiosity was too strong to ignore. She glanced back at the painting, the stormy sky she'd created almost reflecting the knot of unease in her chest.
With a sigh, she grabbed her coat, slipping it on as she moved toward the door. The city outside was quieting as the day gave way to evening, the pale glow of the streetlights just beginning to break through the growing dusk.
Sara locked the door to her studio and started down the sidewalk, her mind racing. Who was Elizabeth Rivers really? And what was so important that she'd track Sara down for a meeting? The questions swirled like echoes in her mind, unanswered and unrelenting.
She tightened her coat around herself against the evening chill, her steps quickening as she disappeared into the falling night.