CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
The hum of the gallery’s lights was something Alessia had grown used to without ever really hearing it. When it vanished, the silence was sharp enough to sting. The sub-vault was suddenly drowned in darkness, the cold air pressing close. She froze for a moment, her hand still resting on the corner of the metal table where they had been spreading out the fragile documents. The smell of aged paper hung in the still air.
From the other side of the table, a beam of light cut through the darkness. Mr. Callen’s flashlight. It found the edge of her hand before sliding to the stacks of files.
“Stay still,” he said quietly. His voice was calm, level, as though this was a simple inconvenience. “Power outages are not unusual in older buildings.”
She nodded, though he could not see it. “The gallery’s systems… they don’t usually fail like this.”
“That is exactly why you have a sub-vault,” he replied, scanning the shelves with his light. “Thick doors, separate power supply. It buys time.”
Alessia tried to focus on the documents in front of her, but the sudden shift in the air made concentration impossible. The stillness was too complete, as if the walls were listening.
She leaned against the table, watching him circle slowly. “You sound like you’ve been in these situations before.”
Mr. Callen paused for half a second before answering. “Work like mine often involves… interruptions.”
“Work like yours,” she repeated softly, tasting the vagueness of it. He had been careful since the moment they met. Too careful.
He angled the flashlight so it lit his own face just enough for her to see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. “You are searching for something. But I think you already know that someone is working to keep you from finding it.”
Her breath hitched. “What are you implying?”
“That some of these files are not what they seem,” he said, looking down at the nearest folder. “The dates, the signatures. I have seen these kinds of changes before. Someone altered them.”
She swallowed hard, defensive instinct rising. “Matteo would never—” She cut herself off before finishing the thought, realizing how it sounded.
He did not push. “It is not my place to tell you what to believe. I am only saying that the patterns match.”
Alessia’s fingers curled against the edge of the table. “You watch me,” she said suddenly. “More than you should for someone just here to scan old files.”
For a moment, the flashlight beam stilled on the wall beside her. “You notice more than you let on,” he said. “That will keep you alive.”
Something about the way he said it made her chest tighten. The vault seemed smaller now, the air heavier. QThey stood in silence for a long moment, the only sound the faint tap of the flashlight’s casing as his thumb shifted over it.
“You do not trust me,” Mr. Callen said quietly.
“I do not trust anyone,” she replied.
“That is good,” he said after a pause. “But do not let it turn into isolation. People who are completely alone are easier to remove.”
His words sat heavy between them, too deliberate to be casual. She felt the urge to ask him why he cared, but the question stayed caught in her throat.
The flashlight beam swept over a high shelf, catching dust motes in the air. He glanced back at her. “Do you want to sit? It might be a while before the power is restored.”
She hesitated, then nodded, moving to one of the low benches along the wall. The cold from the stone beneath her seeped into her skin.
He sat a short distance away, resting his forearms on his knees. “I imagine this is not how you thought your life would be.”
She gave a quiet laugh that had no humor in it. “You imagine correctly.”
“You have been carrying more than most could manage,” he said. “But carrying it alone makes it heavier.”
There was a softness in his voice now that she had not heard before. It was not an invitation, not a demand for trust, just a statement.
For a moment, she almost wanted to tell him about the photo she had found, about the voice on the USB, about how the fire in her dreams seemed to follow her into waking life. But she stayed quiet, folding her hands in her lap.
The beam of the flashlight slid over the vault door. “When the lights come back, act like nothing was said,” he murmured.
She turned her head toward him, searching his face for a reason, but his gaze stayed fixed on the door. A low hum began somewhere above them, faint but growing. The power flickered back, flooding the vault with its sterile light.
Mr. Callen rose smoothly to his feet, brushing the dust from his hands. “We should get back to work,” he said, the calm professionalism back in place as if the darkness had never happened.
Alessia stood as well, her fingers lingering on the edge of the bench. There was nothing romantic in what had passed between them, but the weight of his words lingered in her chest. As they returned to the table, she caught him watching her again out of the corner of her eye. This time, she did not look away. The silence between them stretched after the lights returned, but it was different now. Not the easy quiet of two people working. It had a pulse. Alessia could feel it in the weight of Mr. Callen’s gaze.
She began stacking the nearest files to give her hands something to do, but her mind was still caught in the echo of his earlier words.
“You watch me more than you should,” she said again, her voice low, as if the walls might carry it.
He did not deny it this time. “Maybe,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving her face.
She set another folder down, slower this time. “And you do not look at me like you want to fix me.”
There was no hesitation in his answer. “That is because I do not think you are broken.”
The words caught her off guard. No one had ever said that to her. Not in those exact terms. For a moment, it felt like the air shifted, like the room tilted just enough to let the meaning sink into her skin. She met his eyes then, searching for some hint of performance, some layer of intention hidden under the calm. But he held her gaze without flinching, as if it cost him nothing to say it.
Her throat felt tight. She turned away, closing the last folder with more force than necessary. “You do not know me,” she said quietly.
“That is not entirely true,” he replied. “I know enough to see you have been told the wrong story about yourself for a long time.”
His voice was even, not accusing. But the way it settled in her chest made her feel seen in a way she was not sure she wanted to be. She reached for another stack of files, but his hand was there first. Their fingers brushed, skin against skin, warm against the cool paper between them. It was brief, nothing deliberate. Yet it jolted through her, a tiny spark that made her pull her hand back almost too quickly. His expression did not change, but she saw the smallest shift in his eyes before he looked down at the file in his hands.
Alessia stepped away, needing the space, needing to feel the cool air of the vault against her skin without the weight of that accidental contact. She busied herself with adjusting the edges of the documents already in their boxes. The hum of the restored power filled the air again, a constant reminder that the moment was ending. She thought she heard something outside the heavy vault door, the faint scrape of a shoe on the marble floor. She turned toward the sound just as the overhead lights flickered, dimming for a fraction of a second before glowing steady again.
Her eyes caught on the door.
Matteo was standing there.
He did not speak. Did not move. His presence alone filled the threshold, a shadow against the stark white light of the hallway behind him.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. The air between the three of them was thick enough to feel. Alessia’s pulse climbed without her permission, her mind already racing to explain why she and Mr. Callen were alone here, why her voice still held the trace of something unspoken.
Matteo’s eyes swept over the scene, slow and deliberate. First to her. Then to the table. Then to Mr. Ca
llen.
She could not tell which part of that silent inspection made her chest feel tighter.