Page 169 of Axis of Fire

For a second, I watched the waves rolling toward the shore.

“Watercolor always feels alive to me,” I added quietly. “Like it has its own plans.”

I dipped my brush into the water.

“Though when I first started using it, I thought I hated it.”

“I understand that.”

Airis nodded.

“I hate watercolor.”

That answer made me smile.

“Really?”

“I can't let go of control.”

For a moment, I just stared at him.

Because that answer felt painfully honest.

“I get that,” I said quietly.

And for once, I wasn't lying.

There had been a time when I tried controlling every step of my life.

Sometimes even the people I loved.

Learning to let go hadn't happened overnight.

It had happened slowly.

One watercolor painting at a time.

From my experience, watercolor could never truly be forced into becoming exactly what you imagined.

It moved where it wanted.

Blended when it wanted.

Refused to obey.

Watercolor always felt alive.

Unpredictable.

Stubborn.

Almost arrogant.

As if it somehow knew better than you did.

Eventually, you either learned to trust it—

or ruined the page trying to control it.