Libby wandered gloomily around the columns with empty spots for paintings, trying all evening to avoid the other guides. It seemed she noticed the disapproving glances.

When the last visitor finally left, Sophia sat down on the couch and looked at Van. He appeared a bit tired and thoughtful.

“Can I smoke?” she asked.

“Yes of course,” Constantin pulled an ashtray from under the bar and handed it to her.

“It was incredibly interesting,” she said, exhaling a puff of smoke.

“Are you kidding me?” Disappointment was evident in Constantin’s voice.

“What do you mean?” Sophia didn’t understand.

“I heard your conversation with the boy and his father, Sophia. Why did you say not to buy that piece? Is it really that bad?”

“Nonsense.” Sophia extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray. “It’s not about that at all.”

“Then what is it about?” Van interrupted, anger growing on his face.

“I'll be honest with you. I don't just look at drawings as a passer-by, but also as a doctor.”

“As a psychiatrist, you mean,” Constantin casually interjected.

“I haven’t finished my thought,” the girl replied coldly. “I view paintings through the lens of my professional perspective. And no matter how beautiful a piece may be, I don’t want a seven-year-old boy gazing at it before bed. His psyche is still developing. Whether you like it or not, horror films aren’t just labeled 18+ for no reason. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“Many heard your dialogue and didn’t engage with that piece,” Constantin closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch. “They didn’t grasp what I wanted to convey through it.”

“They’ll have time to reconsider everything,” Sophia replied, not understanding his annoyance. “Look at how many of your other works sold. Honestly, I’ve rarely seen an artist boast about selling so many paintings in one evening.”

“It’s too late now,” Constantin said, standing up and offering her his hand. “I’ll walk you out.”

As she left, she realized that the established rapport with Constantin had been interrupted. Turning back one last time to the painting, Sophia saw Elizabeth form the word ‘thank you’ in the air with her lips.

Getting into the car, Sophia saw in the headlights that Van had returned to the studio without looking back to say goodbye. The Ephor simply shrugged and drove away.

After seeing Sophia off, Constantin couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt.

“Maybe I was too harsh with her—”

On the other hand, they had known each other for only a day, and she had already scared off potential buyers. All because she couldn’t keep silent.

Trying to blow off steam, he took a brush and began to paint chaotic strokes on the canvas. He wasn’t painting anything specific, just improvising.

And he drank a lot. First, he emptied the whiskey, then moved on to white rum. When he could no longer hold the brush in his hands, Constantin flopped down on the couch where the exhibition had taken place and closed his eyes.

In the morning, his head was pounding, but that was trivial compared to the lingering feeling from yesterday’s parting with Sophia. He liked that headstrong girl. The way she boldly defended her viewpoint was captivating. Yet he, like a true egoist, couldn’t accept an opinion different from his own. What childishness.

For half the day, he couldn’t find peace. He didn’t have Sophia’s phone number, which meant the only way to apologize for his behavior was to head to the "Sleeping Dolphin."

The place wasn’t pleasant, although for a clinic it was ornate and tidy. During the times he came here, he wanted to run away. The patients were in their rooms – prisons. They only crossed paths during walks, but what always surprised him was that there were never any violent patients in this clinic. Either they were sent to other centers, or they felt much better here and weren’t in a hurry to leave.