Sara Ikari Rodriguez
The art room felt like stepping into another world. Large windows let in soft golden light that kissed the frames of paintings ranging from brutal brushwork to delicate strokes. Every wall told a story-and I felt strangely at peace here.
Matio's father walked beside me, hands behind his back, eyes distant but aware. He had been quiet since I entered, only speaking
When he noticed, I paused in front of a canvas Matio had clearly bought recently.
"That piece..." I said softly, pointing at a bold oil painting. "It's from Larsen Gallery, isn't it?"
He glanced over his shoulder. “You recognize it?”
I nodded. “Yes." I’m an art exhibition director there. I helped curate that particular piece.”
That made him turn. “Larsen? It’s owned by a friend of mine.”
“I know,” I
