Gjakova gave us the first room. A quiet city, a short lease, a table facing a wall. We did the early work there — the first automations, the first proposals, the first version of everything that now runs without us touching it. The room did what it needed to do. It held still while we figured out what the studio was.

We are moving to Prishtina by the end of Q3 2026. Not because Gjakova failed, but because the next work asks for something Gjakova cannot offer. Proximity to the people we build for. Proximity to the people we want to build with. A room inside the city where the work already happens, not adjacent to it.

The move costs focus. A new lease is administrative weight. A new neighborhood is unfamiliar friction — new commute, new noise, new patterns to absorb before they become invisible. Every hour spent on logistics is an hour not spent on client work. We are not pretending this is free.

What it unlocks is simpler to name: presence. Clients in Prishtina meet us in person instead of on a screen. Talent in Prishtina sees the studio as a place, not a website. Conversations that require a room — the kind where you sketch on paper and argue about scope — become possible on the same day they become necessary.

We are committing to this in writing so the decision is fixed.

This is not a rebrand. The name stays. The voice stays. The work stays. A new room does not require a new identity, and we are not building one.

This is not a hiring spree, a fundraise, or a pivot. The studio remains small by design. We are moving a table and a few screens into a different room in a different city. The constraint is the same — three clients, full attention, no drift.

The studio is the same. The room changes.