The days after Nathan's intrusion at the mill were tense, but they also sparked something in Iris. The way Cassian had stood by her, how she had managed to confront Nathan—even without words—left her feeling a strange mix of pride and vulnerability. For the first time in years, she felt like she wasn't just surviving; she was pushing back.
At school, Nathan's taunts continued, but they no longer held the same weight. Iris's newfound strength, along with Cassian's unwavering presence, gave her a shield she hadn't realized she needed.
***
After school, Cassian found Iris in the library, poring over art books.
"Hey," he greeted, sliding into the seat across from her. "You've been avoiding the mill."
Iris hesitated, her fingers brushing the edges of her sketchpad.
He leaned forward, his voice softer. "You don't have to let Nathan take that space from you. It's ours, remember?"
She nodded slowly, then wrote: It's hard to forget.
"I know," Cassian admitted. "But maybe that's a good thing. Facing it, owning it—that's how we make sure he doesn't win."
His words lingered, and after a long pause, Iris closed her book and stood, gesturing for him to follow.
***
Back at the mill, the light filtering through the broken windows cast a golden glow over the space. It felt quieter than usual, almost sacred.
Cassian set up their supplies while Iris moved to the canvas they'd started during their last visit. The unfinished painting of trust stared back at her, and for a moment, she felt the weight of it.
"Do you want to keep working on this?" Cassian asked gently.
Iris hesitated, then shook her head. She picked up a fresh canvas and motioned for him to join her.
"New start, huh?" he said with a smile. "I like it."
They worked side by side in silence, their brushes moving with purpose. Iris painted threads weaving through an abstract storm, while Cassian added glowing orbs of light that seemed to anchor the chaos.
As the piece came together, Cassian spoke quietly. "You know, I used to think trust was something you just gave to people. But it's not—it's built. Like this." He gestured to the canvas. "One thread at a time."
Iris paused, his words sinking in. She picked up her sketchpad and wrote: It's fragile.
"It is," he agreed. "But that doesn't mean it's not worth it."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged with unspoken emotion.
***
That night, Iris sat in her room, staring at the sketchpad in her lap. The painting at the mill had sparked something inside her—an idea that wouldn't leave her alone.
Flipping to a blank page, she began sketching. The image that took shape was one of threads connecting two figures, their forms indistinct but their bond unmistakable. At the center of the sketch, a single thread glowed brighter than the rest, like a lifeline.
When she finished, she stared at the page, her chest tight with emotion.
She didn't know if she was ready to share this with Cassian yet, but for the first time, she felt like she was finding her voice—not through words, but through the art they created together.
***
At school the next day, Ms. Hargrove stopped them in the hallway.
"I've got exciting news," she said, her eyes bright. "The judges from the Young Artists Showcase were so impressed with your work that they've requested you both present a live demonstration at the city gallery next month."
Iris's heart skipped a beat.
"Don't worry," Ms. Hargrove added, noticing Iris's wide eyes. "It'll just be a small audience, and you'll have plenty of time to prepare."
Cassian grinned. "Sounds like a challenge. We're in."
Iris nodded hesitantly, her mind already racing with ideas—and fears.
***
Later, as they walked to the mill to begin planning, Cassian glanced at Iris. "You okay? You've been quiet... well, quieter than usual."
She gave him a wry look, then pulled out her sketchpad. It's a big step.
"It is," he agreed. "But I wouldn't want to do it with anyone else."
His words warmed her, and for the first time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could pull this off.