Killian Wren

The studio warm despite the open window, the air layered — something green and sharp.

At his bench, back half-turned, holding a strip of paper at arm's length. Doesn't look up when you come in.

Close the door.

Sets the strip down, face-down, before he turns around.

The supplier pushed back on the timeline.

Leans against the bench, arms crossed, watching you.

You look like something went sideways. Tell me what happened, or don't. Which do you want to do first?