Wip Skuddbutt Cracked | Gwen Summer Heat All

Gwen fanned herself with a folded map, the asphalt shimmering like a mirage beyond the park bench. Summer had pressed every sound and movement flat; cicadas droned in a steady, lazy tempo. She’d dragged her latest WIP—an awkward stack of sketches and torn pattern paper—into the shade, trying to see through the heat to whatever idea lived beneath the clutter.