The coffee cup shattered against the wall three inches from Detective Sarah Chen's head.

"You're lying!" Marcus screamed, his face twisted with rage. "She would never—"

Sarah held up both hands, keeping her voice steady. "I'm not lying, Marcus. Your sister contacted me two weeks before she disappeared. She was terrified."

The recording clicked on. Elena's voice filled the interrogation room, small and frightened: "He's been following me. I see him everywhere. If something happens to me, look at the paintings. He hides everything in the paintings."

Marcus collapsed into the metal chair, his anger deflating into something worse—recognition. "The gallery," he whispered. "Oh god, the gallery."

Sarah leaned forward. She'd been chasing Elena Cortez's trail for six months, following breadcrumbs through a labyrinth of dead ends and false leads. But Marcus's reaction told her everything. He knows something.

"What gallery, Marcus?"

His hands trembled as he pulled out his phone, scrolling through photos until he found it—a picture of Elena standing in front of an abstract painting, all crimson swirls and shadow. But Sarah's trained eye caught something else. Behind the chaos of color, there were shapes. Deliberate patterns.

"The Vermillion Gallery on Fifth," Marcus said. "She had a showing there last month. But it closed two days after. The owner just... vanished."

Sarah's blood went cold. The Vermillion Gallery. She knew that name. Three other missing persons cases, all connected to that same address. All artists. All women. All gone without a trace.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number. The text message contained just two words and an address:

Come alone.

The address was the gallery.

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