Page 6 of My End (Iron Fiends #10)

Tilly

A knock sounded on the studio door just as I finished dragging a thick smear of burnt sienna across the top third of the canvas.

The streak bled into the violet layer underneath, and the colors mixed into something moody and wild.

I stepped back with a soft sigh. It was starting to take shape. Slowly, but it was working.

“I come bearing sustenance,” Adam called from the other side, and then the door creaked open.

I laughed and set down my brush. I wiped my hands on the sides of my already paint-covered pants.

The light gray cotton was now a work of art in itself, with smears of cobalt, plum, rust, and mustard yellow that turned it into something that would’ve made my gallery clients gasp in horror. Too messy. Too real. I loved them.

“I just asked for coffee,” I said and turned to face him. “You don’t need to wait on me.”

Adam rolled his eyes dramatically and carried the tray in like a royal butler. “Keeping you fed is in my official job description.”

He moved to the coffee table in front of the velvet couch and set the tray down with exaggerated care. The smell of chocolate chip pancakes hit me instantly.

I dropped to the floor in front of the table and sat cross-legged. “Coffee would’ve kept me going just fine,” I insisted.

Adam tsked. “And if you passed out mid-stroke from low blood sugar, who would I blame?”

I grinned and reached for a pancake. I tore a chunk off the edge and popped it in my mouth. “Did you make chocolate chip ones just for me?”

“You’re the only one in this damn place who gets fussy about what they eat. The guys will inhale anything I make.”

I took another bite and let out a little moan. Still warm. Still gooey. The chocolate chips had melted into rich pools inside the pillowy pancake center, and the buttery crisp edges practically melted on my tongue.

The tray had it all. Pancakes stacked and golden, a pitcher of orange juice, a bowl of fresh fruit, two oversized blueberry muffins, and my giant navy blue mug filled to the brim with dark coffee.

Painting always did this to me. I’d forget about eating entirely until the scent of something delicious hit my senses and reminded me I was a human, not a machine.

Adam circled behind me and eyed the canvas I’d been working on. I paused mid-chew and waited for him to say something.

“What do you think?” I asked and brushed my hands off on a napkin.

He tilted his head. “I have no idea what I’m looking at, but it’s beautiful.”

I laughed and finished the last of the pancake in my hand. “That’s how most of my work starts. Just blobs and strokes until they start forming something real.”

Jake Style’s face was this one. It was strong, rugged, haunting, and still burned into my memory like I’d been studying it for years.

I hadn’t even wanted to admit I was painting him until halfway through last night when I saw the shape of his cheekbone emerging beneath a charcoal wash. Now I couldn’t unsee it.

Adam crossed his arms. “I don’t know how you do it, Tilly. I don’t see a face… but I bet you do.”

I smiled into my coffee. “I do. You’ll see it soon, too.”

At least… I thought he might. I wasn’t sure if anyone would see this one.

I rarely painted just for myself anymore. Everything had a destination: an auction, a gallery wall, or a licensing deal. Even when I painted what I wanted, it was with the knowledge that someone would eventually judge it, price it, and try to understand it.

But this one?

This one was mine.

“Is it a bear?” Adam asked and stepped back with a teasing grin.

I burst out laughing. “No! You know I went through my animal phase already.”

“Yeah. And then sold the entire series to that notebook company so they could slap them on every planner in existence. You’re not just creative, you’re also savvy. No starving artist life for you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I think I’m just lucky, Adam.”

“Uh huh.” He didn’t buy that for a second.

“All I know is I’m looking at the beginnings of a masterpiece.

I can feel it.” He backed up toward the door.

“Anyway, I better get back to the kitchen. The guys will start turning feral if I don’t show up with second breakfast soon.

I’ll check in on you later with some snacks. ”

“Thanks, Adam.” I smiled and waved him off.

The door clicked softly behind him.

I stood slowly, brushed crumbs off my pants, and took my coffee with me as I returned to the center of the room. The canvas sat there tall and silent, waiting for me.

From where I stood, I could see it all now. The bold blue shading across the cheekbone. The shadows around what would soon be his eyes. The strong set of the jawline.

Jake Style.

Even his name sounded like it was made for a painting. A mystery wrapped in black cotton and combat boots.

He hadn’t done much. Barely talked. Just walked with purpose and stood like he could snap steel in half without breaking a sweat.

But my mind wouldn’t stop playing him on a loop.

I barely knew the man. Had maybe five minutes of total interaction with him. Yet here I was with a two-foot by two-foot canvas, pouring every image and impression I had of him into the brush.

I should be trying to figure out why he’d taken up so much space in my head.

Why my stomach had fluttered when he looked up at me in the dark.

Why his presence made the air feel different.

But if I did that, I would have to start pulling at threads I wasn’t sure I wanted to unravel.

Safer to stay here—in this room with the light, colors, and the comfort of my brushes.

“Stick your head in the sand, Tilly,” I whispered to myself.

It was what I did best.

The world outside this studio? That was Boone’s world. A world of suits, backroom deals, and a future so carefully manufactured it barely felt real.

But in here?

Here, I was safe.

Here, it was just paint and shadows.

Here, I could breathe.

I picked up my brush and dipped it in the blue again.

And then I started painting.