It's been two weeks now and sleep didn’t come easily, my mind always raced at the thought of what Marcus said and also what Julian said—the deadline pressing down on me. 60 days, much less now. I kept turning from the right to the left side of the bed, the clock ticking steadily, more as a reminder of time slipping through my fingers. I suddenly threw off the covers and stood from my bed, pacing the room like a restless prisoner—maybe that’s what I was. Imprisoned to this painting, to Julian, to whatever game was unfolding before me. I grabbed my sketch pad from the table filled with different paint brushes, color palette, oil paints and normal paints and started drawing, trying to replicate the original Elysium with the vague memory I had. Halfway through the sketches, there was a soft knock on the door, I paused with my pencil mid stroke as the door gradually opened. The same young girl stepped in, standing in the doorway her expression remained still and unreadable. “Mr Julia
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