Art of Deception

ence of the art studios I used to call home. But here, on a grimy brick wall, I felt a flicker of life re

the city, cut off all contact with my old life, and let Ava Vance, the disgraced restorer,

aits of forgotten things: a discarded doll, a wilted flower, a cracked teacup. I poured all my

he small TV mounted in the corner. It was Chloe, of course. She was be

solved the 'Phantom of the Opera' case, a forged musical score that f

r practiced,

en. The art tells you its story, if you're open to its energy. It's an

plaining my theory that the forger had used a specific iron gall ink that aged unnaturally under spectroscopic analysis. I had even

jection, the stinging heat of the coffee on my skin. It all came back. But this time, it wasn't just pa

s sketching out a new piece on a wall near the docks, a sleek

oice hesitant. "I've

he disgraced vandal? Why wo

ring my sarcasm. "It's a big case.

d in a ridiculously expensive suit, looking completely out of plac

a newly discovered painting, 'La Bella Principessa.' But something's wrong wi

itique my work, a half-finished

A bit of a step down from restoring Renaissance masterpieces, don't you think? It'

. But they had the opposite effect. They ignited a cold fire i

e pulled tight against her arm. I saw a faint, dark bruise on her upper arm, shaped almost like a handprint. It was gone in an i

he historical inaccuracies, the tiny mistakes a forger makes. Chloe was a

, who stood by looking desperate and lost. And I knew, right then, that the game had changed. Thi

back to my wall, picking up a can of black spray paint. The hiss of the can was the only