Scarlett's POV
I stood in front of my canvas, the smell of oil paints and turpentine filling the studio. My brush moved in rhythmic strokes, trying to capture the light of a French sunset, but my mind was miles away. Paris was beautiful, but it wasn't home.
The truth was… home had never been a place.
It had been them.
As I worked, a strange energy shifted in the room. The quiet hum of the art class was replaced by urgent whispers. I noticed students huddled together, staring at their phones, their eyes wide with shock.
I ignored them. It was probably just some silly school gossip or a new celebrity scandal. I dipped my brush into a pool of red paint, focusing on the texture.
"Scarlett? Mon Dieu, Scarlett, have you seen this?"
I turned to see Chloé, a bubbly French girl who had become my closest friend at the academy. She was holding her phone, her eyes wide with excitement.
