Alessia gave York a gentle pat on the shoulder–a subtle reminder that sometimes, only children can get away with bending the rules.

York was quick to catch her meaning. Without hesitation, he grabbed Ivan’s hand and, taking long strides, led him straight up onto the stage.

Ivan, a little stunned by the sudden attention, simply let himself be pulled along. The rest of the crowd watched the scene unfold with warm smiles, amused by the boys‘ camaraderie.

Onstage, Ivan looked out of place and nervous, but York took the microphone Eddie handed him without missing a beat.

“Hello, everyone. I’m not Ivan–I’m York,” he announced with a grin.

The two boys, both fair and charming, were already winning hearts. And after the rather tense atmosphere Tammie had created earlier, their presence was a welcome relief.

“The real Ivan is right here next to me,” York continued, nudging his friend forward. “He’s an artist–sensitive souls, you know how it is.”

His words drew laughter from the audience, helping to break the tension and ease the nerves in the room.

To those

hearts.

Ivan’s lips. Ivan instinctively clung to the hem of York’s shirt, but managed to introduce himself in a

Alessia led the applause, and everyone joined

Ivan’s level, his tone gentle. “Can you

his nerves lingered. “It’s a hand,” he began quietly. “The hand keeps squeezing a heart, so I used red and black to show pain and pressure. But

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was painted in dark, swirling colors, creating a sense of distortion

looked fragile, that little heart–but driven by the desire to protect

understanding. Even Dale Reeves, usually so reserved, was clapping enthusiastically, admiration shining in his

an announcement to make,” Dale Reeves called out, instantly grabbing

he said. “He has a depth and sensitivity rare for someone his age. For my next international exhibition, I’ll be collaborating with Ivan. I hope you’ll all come and

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

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