Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9Q34178KEAN20325S9S64

Rain battered Ashfield's sleeping windows. Detective Mara Quinn watched alone. The phone shattered midnight's silence. Unknown calls rarely brought good. She answered, voice already braced. 'Quinn here,' she said, listening. 'Detective, we found another one.' Static crawled behind the officer. Mara gripped yesterday's cold coffee. Bodies meant patterns, she believed. Patterns meant killers growing careless. Careless killers eventually met her. She scribbled the given address. Ashfield Museum, east service entrance. Public institutions complicated everything relentlessly. She shrugged on creaking leather. Holster settled against familiar bruises. Rain followed her down stairwell. The city smelled like endings. Blue lights painted the museum. Officers clustered near service doors. Whispers tightened when she approached. Sergeant Nolan met her halfway. He avoided looking directly back. 'You picked a stormy night.' She scanned his rain-glossed face. 'Bodies don't check weather reports.' Nolan swallowed, gesturing toward tape. Yellow ripples fluttered like warnings. Museum employees huddled under awning. Their uniforms soaked, eyes red. Fear clung tighter than raindrops. Mara raised her voice carefully. 'Who found the body tonight?' A young guard stepped forward. His nametag trembled against shirt. 'I did, in Restoration Room.' Mara watched his flickering pupils. Shock, maybe guilt, lived there. She ducked beneath the tape. Rain muted suddenly, door closing. The museum exhaled stale quiet. Security lights hummed above exhibits. Glass cases became watching eyes. Nolan's shoes squeaked behind her. 'You ever like this place?' 'Dead things pay my mortgage.' Their footsteps echoed toward Restoration. Chemical tang thickened with anticipation. The door waited, slightly ajar. Mara pushed, palm steady, entering. Bright lamps dissected the chamber. Paintings slept beneath plastic shrouds. One table broke the pattern. A woman lay upon canvas. Throat opened like another mouth. Her blood haloed stolen masterpiece. Mara's breath paused between heartbeats. Nolan whispered, already regretting words. 'Third curator this month, Quinn.' Mara finally saw the pattern. Someone was killing beauty's guardians.