Reclaiming the workshop was just the beginning; reviving it would be the real challenge.

Inside, the workshop stood eerily silent. The only remaining craftsmen—Hans, the metalsmith, and Martha, the gem cutter—eyed their young new owner with a mixture of skepticism and wariness.


The staggering debt figures in the ledgers loomed like a death sentence.

Elvira refused to wallow in despair. She cleared out the cluttered office and restored her mother's oak workbench to its former glory.

First priority: rebuild morale. She called Hans and Martha to her office, offering not empty promises but a concrete new compensation plan.


"We're changing course," she announced, her quiet voice carrying unmistakable authority. "No more mass-produced trinkets. From now on, we create exclusive, high-end custom pieces. We'll use raw amber straight from The Vein—our unique advantage." She laid out sketches she'd drawn through the night—bold, modern designs that played with the contrast between raw amber and polished metal, featuring her signature "thorns" motif.

Hans lifted one sketch, his calloused fingers tracing the dynamic lines. A spark of interest flickered in his weathered eyes.


Martha examined a raw amber specimen with internal luminescence, though skepticism still lined her face.

"Miss," Hans ventured, tapping an irregular amber with a visible fissure in the design, "this type of specimen… traditionally, we'd consider it flawed. Nearly impossible to work with properly."

Rather than contradicting him, Elvira picked up the amber and held it to the light.

"Hans, look at this fissure. See how it resembles a lightning strike? Instead of hiding it with an inlay, what if we trace it with fine silver wire, following its natural path? We could transform the flaw into the piece's signature feature."

Hans blinked in surprise. He leaned closer, studying the amber with new eyes. Slowly, understanding—and a touch of admiration—dawned on his face.

"That's… that's quite innovative. I've never seen it done." Martha peered over his shoulder, nodding thoughtfully.

Their professional curiosity was piqued. Elvira recognized the breakthrough—she'd earned their initial trust through creative vision rather than authority.

Money remained the biggest hurdle.

The dividends from The Vein wouldn't cover both the workshop's revival and her investigation.

She needed a win—something to thrust her work back into the spotlight. As she wrestled with options, an unexpected opportunity materialized.

Mr. Chen called, his voice carefully measured: "Elvira, I've been contacted by Alroy Winter—the art critic and curator. He's asked to visit your workshop. I should mention… Winter seems to have a particular interest in the Field family, especially your mother. I suspect his visit isn't purely about jewelry."

Alroy Winter.

Elvira knew the name. He was famous for his unconventional perspectives and refusal to follow the crowd, but equally known for his mysterious background and elusive persona.

An unsolicited visit connected to her mother's past? Warning bells rang immediately.

Whether this spelled opportunity or danger remained to be seen.

But she couldn't afford to turn away potential allies.

Elvira decided to meet this unexpected visitor on her own terms.

She made minimal preparations—just tidying the reception area and leaving current projects and sketches visible on her workbench.

Alroy Winter arrived on a rain-spattered afternoon.

He looked to be in his mid-thirties, wearing a tailored light gray suit with casual elegance, his manner cultured but approachable.

His seemingly casual glance methodically cataloged every corner of the workshop, lingering notably on the old tool cabinets marked with the Field crest, as though confirming something. Finally, his gaze settled on Elvira—assessing, but with an unexpected warmth.

"Ms. Field, forgive the intrusion." He extended his hand with a perfectly calibrated smile. "I'm Alroy Winter. I've always been fascinated by amber—a material that captures time itself. When I heard about your innovative work here, I couldn't stay away."

"Mr. Winter, welcome. Please, call me Elvira." She shook his hand and began showing him around.

She avoided mentioning the workshop's financial struggles, focusing instead on materials and design concepts.

She showed him raw amber specimens with their natural cortices intact, explained her philosophy of incorporating rather than hiding natural "imperfections," and outlined the destruction-and-rebirth concept behind her "Thorns" collection.

Alroy listened intently, asking incisive questions that revealed genuine expertise. He picked up the amber specimen Elvira had planned to trace with silver wire, examining it thoughtfully against the light.

"Fascinating approach," he remarked. "Rather than concealing the 'flaws,' you've made them the focal point. That's refreshingly honest in today's market." His praise seemed genuine, but Elvira maintained her inner guard.

After the tour, Elvira invited him to wait in her office while she prepared tea.

When she returned with the tea tray, she found Alroy transfixed by a black-and-white photograph on the wall—her mother standing beside Old Gresham.

His posture had stiffened, his fingers white-knuckled around the empty teacup. His profile was taut with emotion—something raw and unresolved, like an old wound reopened.

Only at the sound of her footsteps did he snap back to awareness, turning with poorly disguised discomposure before quickly donning his practiced smile.

"Your mother was remarkable—such vision, such talent." He accepted the fresh cup, his voice tinged with something like nostalgia. "That 'Tear of Sunshine' amber caused quite a stir when she unveiled it. Such a shame that…" He trailed off, genuine regret shadowing his features.

Alarm bells rang in Elvira's mind. He knew far too much. "You seem well-acquainted with that history," she probed carefully.

Alroy's smile turned wistful. "I attended one of your mother's lectures as a young man. She made quite an impression. As for Old Gresham… my father had business connections with him." His tone was deliberately casual, but his earlier reaction had convinced Elvira his ties to both families ran much deeper than "business connections."

The conversation shifted back to her current work. Alroy showed genuine enthusiasm for the "Thorns" series, praising its emotional resonance and distinctive aesthetic.

"The market is saturated with soulless pieces," he said bluntly. "Your work is different—like wildflowers pushing through concrete."

Finally, he made his pitch: "Elvira, I'd like to organize a small salon exhibition for your work. Just a select group who truly appreciate craftsmanship. You need visibility."

A golden opportunity dangled before her, yet Elvira's instincts screamed caution. This was too convenient.

Why now? Was this genuine appreciation, calculated sympathy, or another move in Cyrus's game?

Or was Winter using her for his own agenda? Behind his charm lurked too many unknowns.

She studied Alroy's earnest expression, her thoughts battling.

Refusing meant surrendering a critical opportunity; accepting might mean walking into a trap. In the end, ambition outweighed caution.

Whatever his motives, the exhibition itself was real. She could use his influence while guarding her secrets.

This was a transaction between parties with separate agendas. She would need to keep her eyes wide open.

"Thank you, Mr. Winter. That's quite generous," she replied carefully. "I'll need time to prepare a proper collection." She kept her enthusiasm measured.

"Please, call me Alroy." His smile remained warm. "I look forward to seeing what you create. This exhibition will make waves, I'm certain."

After Alroy's departure, Elvira returned to the silent workshop.

The rain had ceased, and golden evening light streamed through freshly cleaned windows, illuminating her mother's workbench.

In the workroom, Hans and Martha huddled together, discussing inlay techniques in hushed tones, their faces animated with long-forgotten enthusiasm.

The workshop remained shabby, but something vital was stirring back to life.

Elvira ran her hand across the smooth wooden surface, her wariness undiminished.

Alroy's arrival was like a ray of light through storm clouds—illuminating possibilities while deepening mysteries.

His interest wasn't simply professional; he seemed connected to the buried history between her mother and the Greshams.

She picked up her pencil and made a bold stroke across fresh paper.

The path ahead remained shrouded and treacherous, but retreat wasn't an option. She would revive the workshop—and uncover the dark truth behind the Thornheart.

This alliance with the enigmatic critic would be her next calculated risk.