35 RAY'S ROOM

Ray's room was messy—as usual.

And Alas was not surprised. He knew that Ray's patience was just as long as a twelve-inch ruler when it came to the matter of cleaning his own room.

Standing by the door of Ray's apartment, Alas observed his childhood friend, taking in the sight of him sitting in the middle of the room. Chocolate brown eyes narrowed, Alas stared at what his friend was doing.

Ray was painting. It was a new one, obvious by the first messy strokes and still blank spaces. By the look of it, it was quite different from Ray's other paintings. His previous paintings were mostly about Fram Hill's landscapes and waterscapes, Saint-Tropez, and his childhood favorite spot in the whole world, the Three Elms.

Ray's painting—the one he was currently working on—was rare, Alas thought. He was painting someone this time.