A week passed. The rhythm of solitude in Thorne Tower settled around Alex, a constant hum of vacuum cleaners and fluorescent lights. He avoided Ethan's floor during hours the man might be present, sticking to the emptier mid-level offices. He hadn't seen him since the dawn encounter. The question about hope felt increasingly like a fever dream.
Then, a call from Sofia.
"Alex! Alex! Guess what came to the center today?" Sofia's voice bubbled with excitement, chasing away Alex's exhaustion after a long shift.
"What, Sof?" he asked, smiling despite himself.
"A huge box! From an art supply store! Like, the *fancy* one downtown! It had everything! New paints – like, *all* the colors! Brushes! Sketchbooks! Even this special paper Ms. Flores says is for watercolors! And glitter! So much glitter!"
Alex's smile faltered. "Who… who sent it?"
"Nobody knows!" Sofia chirped. "It just said 'For the East End Community Center Art Room' on the label. No name! Ms. Flores is crying, she's so happy! She says it's like a miracle! We can finally replace the stuff that got ruined or dried up! We're gonna paint a HUGE mural now!"
A chill ran down Alex's spine, unrelated to the basement chill of the tower. *Art supplies. Fancy ones.* Replacing what was ruined. Sofia's nebula painting flashed in his mind, smeared across Ethan Thorne's chest. *Hope. An illogical motivator. Prone to disappointment. Yet… persistent.*
"Alex? You there?"
"Yeah, Sof, I'm here. That's… that's amazing." His voice sounded strained.
"Isn't it? Maybe it was that nice lady from the Thorne Foundation? The one who came with Mr. Grumpy? But she didn't seem *that* nice…" Sofia pondered.
"Maybe," Alex mumbled, his mind racing. Amelia Vance? Unlikely. She operated on PR, not anonymous charity. *Thorne Enterprises.* The return address would be traceable, but Sofia said no name… just the store. Ordered anonymously? Paid in cash? Possible. But who else would connect the ruined painting to the center's need for supplies? Who else had heard Alex speak about Sofia's universe?
*He asked. He heard.*
The possibility was terrifying. Why? Guilt? A twisted sense of restitution? Another move in his manipulative game, as Marco insisted? Or… something else? A silent, anonymous nod to that baffling concept: hope?
He thought of Ethan's tired eyes at dawn, the way he'd looked towards the East End. *"Yet… persistent."*
Alex ended the call with Sofia, promising to come see the new supplies soon. He leaned against the cold wall of the service corridor, the hum of the building's systems suddenly loud in his ears. The anonymous gift changed nothing about his debt, Marco's exile, or Ethan Thorne's essential nature. Yet, it felt like a pebble dropped into the still pond of his resentment, sending out ripples he couldn't control. The glacier hadn't moved, but something had been left at its edge. A small, glittering offering. A question mark made of paint and possibility.
**(End of Chapter 21)**