Bryan's Arc

Chapter 9 of 21

Bryan woke to gray light and a stiff neck. The model sat where he had left it, the new shadow still drying under the glow. He picked up the brush and leaned in close. The clock on the wall said he had hours, not days. The anchor had to land now, or the judges would call the piece weightless and move on. He pinned a reference photo to the corner of his desk. Black wings shot through with veins of fire, the dark holding the light in place. That was the balance he needed. He mixed a deep brown, almost black, and cut a sharp line under the chest plate where the glow was loudest. Then he softened the edge with a clean, damp brush. The light stopped drifting. It sat on the model like something heavy had pulled it down and tied it there. He lifted the model under the lamp. The red armor burned, but it burned from a place. The shadow was the rope. The glow was the lantern. He took the photo, named the file, and saved it. The anchor had landed. The piece had weight. Now he had to carry it through the doors of the show without anyone learning what he had stolen to get here. He set the model in a foam case and zipped the bag. His hands felt steady for the first time in days. Then his phone buzzed. A message from a name he didn't know. One line. I saw your screenshots in someone's drive. Bryan stared at the screen. The anchor held the light. Nothing held him.