"Hello!" I say cheerfully to a woman who''s passing by. "Can I interest you in a-"


    The woman ignores me, her heels clicking as she hurries past.


    I sigh, but shake it off and turn to the next person. "Can I interest you in a Flora original? Just three hundred dors!"


    The man, wearing a leather jacket and jeans, stops and raises an eyebrow. "Three hundred dors? For that?"


    "It''s a Flora original," I reply with a smile.


    "Who the hell is Flora?"


    "She''s an up anding artist. She had an exhibition recently at Marsiel Gallery."


    "Where?"


    "Nevermind..."


    And so it goes for the next hour and a half. If anyone stops to look, it''s fleeting and often filled with rudements. Hardly anyone knows who ''Flora'' is, and if they do, they think I''m a poser trying to pawn off a fake.


    I''m about to give up when a young, slender woman with bright auburn hair and a wealthy air about her stops. "T give you one-fifty," she says by way of greeting. She''s holding the cash in her hand already, and practically waves it in my face.


    I hesitate, chewing my lip. That''s half of what I was hoping to get, and even three hundred Ordan dors is dirt cheap for a painting of this size.


    But I''m desperate. So I ept the cash with a nod and hand her the painting. She struts off without even saying '' thank you''.


    I sigh and sink down onto a nearby bench, counting the cash. It''s all there, I suppose, but I''ll need to produce twice as many paintings at this rate if I''m going to earn the same amount I was hoping for. And that''s just to be able to afford the legal consultation at Brooks & Lee.


    "Iris?"


    The sound of a familiar voice has me looking up. The curator from Marsiel, Alice, is standing there with a cup of coffee in hand. She nces at me, then the cash in my hands, and the woman walking away with the painting.


    "Alice," I say, quickly shoving the money in my pocket. "Fancy seeing you here."


    "I thought you went back to Bo''Arrocan," she says.


    I swallow. "I... was going to," I reply. "But something happened, and now I''m staying here for the time being."


    She nods toward the woman with the painting. "Selling paintings on the street?" "Strapped for cash," I admit sheepishly, running my hand over my braid.


    Alice stares at me for a moment almost incredulously before she takes a seat next to me. "Why didn''t you contact me? I could help you sell some art if you''re really in that much of a bind."


    My eyes widen slightly. "I... I guess I thought I burned my bridges. Because of the contract and everything."


    "Burned your bridges?" Alice giggles and shakes her head. "Iris, I love your work. I''d be willing to help you,


    contract or no contract."


    "Really?" I ask, my eyebrows shooting up.


    Alice nods excitedly. "Yes! How long are you staying in Ordan?"


    “Um..... I''m not really sure," I admit. "As of right now... indefinitely."


    To my surprise, Alice looks unfazed. She stands, ncing at her watch. "I have to run, but tell you what-if you can produce five new pieces by that art opening we''re holding in a little under two weeks, you can hang your art in the space."


    "But I can''t afford hanging fees," I say softly.


    "Forget the fees. If you sell anything, I''ll just take amission. You can keep the rest."


    "Really?" I ask.


    She nods and grins. "Really. Just have the work ready by then. And make sure it''s better than the mud waffles."


    I can''t help butugh, despite everything. "I will," I say, shaking Alice''s hand.


    "Thank you, Alice, You have no idea how much this means to me."


    "It means a lot to Marsiel Gallery, too," she replies. "Your work really helped us, Alice; that lecture you gave brought a lot of business. Who knows-maybe we can work something out without your ''mysterious patron“.”


    With that, Alice leaves, shing me a wink over her shoulder. I blush a little, touched by her help. I don''t feel like I deserve it, but it''s a relief to know that I''ve got something to look forward to that doesn''t involve Arthur or selling my art on the street. Even if it means I have to wait an extra two weeks before I can get legal help.


    I hurry home after that, excited to get to work on my next five paintings. ording


    to Cliff, Miles is upstairs with Arthur when I arrive. But Cliff''s face is a little tense for some reason.


    When I get upstairs, I realize why: Selina is here.


    But it''s not just that. The painting I sold in the park is leaning against the wall, and Selina is smirking at me.