Gemotions

The chill of the museum's air conditioning did little to soothe the heat prickling her skin. She scanned the room, each glance a deliberate sweep, her gaze lingering on the vibrant, bold canvases. They were hers. She could feel the ghost of the artist's touch, the whisper of the inspiration that had birthed each piece. A knot of tension coiled in her gut. She approached a guard, her voice low, controlled. "Can you tell me about the provenance of these works?" Her fingers tapped a restless rhythm on her thigh. She needed answers. And she would get them.