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He thought about the little girl who lived in the apartment next door—Samira, age eight, who’d seen him drawing through the open door one day and asked, “Are you making a dream?” He’d said yes. She’d nodded like that was the most normal thing in the world.

His phone buzzed. His agent, Mira.

Afterward, a young artist approached him. She was holding a printed zine, spiral-bound, a little crooked. lets post it free

“It’s the only deal,” she said. “You’re unknown, Leo. No following. No platform. You either take the staircase or you stay on the ground floor.” He thought about the little girl who lived