“You will,” he said.

He placed the wire on his desk and picked up his phone.

He dialed a number and spoke into the receiver.

“Tell the contractors to begin,” he said. “The Fifth Avenue shop. Double the budget.”

He hung up and looked at me.

“Monday,” he said.

***

Six weeks later, the rain had stopped, replaced by the crisp, cool air of late autumn.

The Fifth Avenue atelier was finished.

The glass storefront was thick and tinted, blocking the harsh glare of the street.

Inside, the walls were covered in deep gray acoustic panels.

They absorbed the sound of the city, leaving the space completely silent.

The lighting was soft and indirect, casting no harsh shadows.

In the center of the room stood a massive cutting table made of dark walnut.

My tools were arranged neatly on the magnetic strip above the table.

The heavy brass shears Aries had given me sat on a velvet cushion.

The door buzzer sounded, a low, pleasant hum rather than a sharp ring.

I opened the door to find Aries standing on the threshold.