I walked into the estate studio just after noon. The air still held the faint bite of turpentine and old canvas. Sunlight cut through the high windows in thick bars, dust hanging motionless in the beams. I set my bag on the worktable and rolled my shoulders once, hard.
I started the usual check straightening brushes, flipping through unfinished sketches when something snagged at the edge of my vision. A tiny glint in the crown molding, no bigger than a pinhead. I dragged the tall stool over, climbed up, and ran my fingers along the carved wood until they found it. a microscopic lens, almost invisible against the dark paint.
I climbed down and checked the vents. Another one nestled in the metal grate. A third tucked into the shadow of a ceiling beam.
Three cameras. All pointed at the cen
