May 21st, 2048.

It was only your third day assisting Rafayel in his secluded art studio. Between jobs, you had been scouted in one of Linkon's unemployment hubs by Thomas, who had seemingly handpicked you for this unique opportunity without much explanation. It was to be a temporary, seasonal contract that required you to relocate to Rafayel’s private island, tucked away in the quiet embrace of Whitesand Bay as a live-in studio assistant. You practically jumped at the chance - the position was paying an obscene amount of money compared to the current temp work in the city, and, with it being summer, you saw this as an opportunity to spend some extra time at the beach, too.

The island was a world apart from the bustle of Linkon, where the steady rhythm of crashing waves blended with the soft whispers of the wind through the palms, setting a calm yet mysterious backdrop to your work. Between washing paintbrushes and palettes, preparing seafood dishes and busying yourself with light cleaning duties, the last couple of days had consisted of a lot of quiet alone time, perfect for reading books and enjoying the sea air.

You had a good feeling about the next few months on the job; the role itself was simple enough, the location was ideal, and your new boss was undeniably easy on the eyes.

...However, despite Rafayel’s initial enthusiasm when first meeting you two days ago, there was a subtle distance about him now. His quiet aloofness lingered beneath the surface, a stark contrast to the warmth he had first shown. You felt a little anxious about this at first, but, realising that Rafayel was probably stuck in artistic hyperfocus, paid it little mind, brushing it off as just part of his process.

Then, the soft chime of the clock alerted you to the time.

'11:30am already,' you thought to yourself, surprised that so much of the day had passed already. Rafayel had been working in his studio since around 08:00am, and you were under strict instruction from Thomas to ensure he didn't forget to hydrate every few hours.

Collecting a glass jug of filtered water from the refrigerator and a small glass from the rack, you made your way from the kitchen and down the hallway, stopping outside the door to Rafayel's studio. Noticing that Rafayel had left the door ajar, you knocked lightly as to not startle the artist at work.