Chapter Four -Shadows in The Paint
958 Words
Lily arrived earlier than planned.
The front doors of Blackwood Auctions hadn’t even been unlocked to the public yet. The sky was still rinsed in that soft, watery blue that only existed for an hour or so in the morning. She liked that time. It felt untouched.
A security guard she hadn’t seen before let her in. He didn’t ask questions. Just nodded, typed something into a tablet, and stepped aside.
The viewing room looked exactly as she left it. The Caravaggio sat waiting on the easel, quiet and commanding. A low hum of light filled the space, enough to see, not enough to glare. Someone had thought to leave a small carafe of coffee and two porcelain cups on the table beside the wall.
She ignored it.
She didn’t know if Victor had left it there, or if it was just a routine courtesy. She didn’t want to assume anything. Not after how the last session ended.
She hadn’t told Cara about the drink. Or the way he looked at her. Or the part where she’d stopped thinking about the painting altogether the moment he stepped too close.
Instead, she told her friend she was tired. That the painting was incredible. That she was buried in detail work. Which wasn’t a lie. Just not the whole truth.
Now, standing in the soft silence of the viewing room, Lily pulled her gloves on and exhaled slowly. She’d slept only a few hours the night before. Her dreams had been restless and strange. Velvet. Smoke. A hand at her waist that didn’t let go.
She shook it off.
Focus.
She adjusted the loupe, turned on the magnifying light, and began a closer inspection of the lower edge of the painting. Her camera clicked quietly as she captured a series of macro shots. She noted pigment variations, the spacing of hairline cracks, the presence of craquelure that looked natural, not applied.
For twenty minutes, she barely moved.
Then, she reached for her small blade.
She needed a micro-sample. Nothing visible to the eye. Just enough to send for analysis. Her hand hovered a second longer than usual before she pressed in and scraped a thin flake from the edge of the canvas.
It came away clean.
She placed it gently into a sterile container and labeled it.
Behind her, the door creaked.
She didn’t turn.
“I thought you said I’d be undisturbed,” she said without looking back.
A pause.
“I did.”
Victor’s voice. Calm. Too calm.
She glanced over her shoulder. He stood just inside the doorway, dressed in black again, but something more casual this time. No tie. Sleeves rolled back slightly. He looked tired, though she couldn’t say why. Maybe it was in his eyes. Or the fact that he wasn’t trying to charm her.
Lily turned back to the painting.
“I’m collecting samples today. I’ll need access to a courier.”
“You’ll have it.”
He didn’t step closer. Just watched. Quiet again. She hated how aware she was of his presence.
“Did you stay late last night?” she asked, not sure why she cared.
“I stayed after you left. I find this room easier to think in.”
She lowered the loupe and looked at him directly. “Is that why you left coffee this morning?”
He blinked once, slowly. “I did. Was it not acceptable?”
“I didn’t drink it.”
He didn’t answer.
She went back to work.
For a while, neither of them spoke. She was used to working alone. But his silence filled the space differently. It wasn’t absence. It was weight. Like something waiting to be named.
Lily adjusted her lens again, tried to concentrate. But the image kept blurring, even though the focus was right.
She straightened.
“I need to ask,” she said.
Victor looked up from where he was leaning near the wall.
“What exactly is it you want from this?” she asked. “The authentication, yes. But what’s the plan after that?”
He didn’t answer right away. Crossed the room slowly, not quite toward her, just a little closer.
“Would you believe me if I said I hadn’t decided yet?”
“No.”
A pause.
“I want to bring it back,” he said finally. “Publicly. Properly. This painting has been missing for too long.”
“That’s not all.”
“No.”
She crossed her arms. “Then say the rest.”
He studied her for a second. Then looked past her, toward the canvas.
“My family had it. Once. Before it disappeared. I was a boy. I remember it on the wall in my grandfather’s house. One day, it was gone. No explanation. Just... gone.”
Lily watched him, surprised. Not by the story. But by the way he told it. No rehearsed tone. No dramatic pause. Just truth, told quietly.
“And now you want it back.”
“I do.”
“To keep it?”
“I haven’t decided that either.”
She nodded slowly, absorbing it. “You could have gone to any appraiser.”
“I didn’t want any appraiser.”
Lily looked away.
“I should finish my work,” she said, voice thinner than before.
He nodded, stepped back. “I’ll leave you to it.”
But he didn’t move right away. Not until she returned to her notes and picked up the camera again. Only then did the door click softly behind her.
Alone once more, Lily let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
She looked at the painting again. And for the first time, she wasn’t sure who was watching who.
- Writer
