Muse Assembly Row Novels & Stories

*Thursday Night | 8:00pm | MOMA, Day 12 of 12* The Museum of Modern Art looked like it had been dipped in gold. Chandeliers hung from ceilings so high you couldn’t see the wires. Waiters moved through the crowd with trays of champagne that caught the light and threw it back. The string quartet in the corner was playing something soft and expensive, the kind of music that made people talk in lower voices even when they had nothing important to say.

| 5:56pm — INT. CHARLES STACY MUSEUM, BOSTON. BALLROOM. DAY. Lucian and Gael enter an imposing gathering, both in awe at the festivities. A grand chandelier streams light from its glistening crystals, flowing from the ceiling like a bejewelled waterfall. Walls of artwork are displayed on setups, erected under lavish lights for fancily dressed people to explore. Some presented in flourishes of illumination, abstract constructs, and risen platforms strewn about. The space is large, carpeted, a vibrant blue that highlights the plain beige walls.

"Check the bags by the vanity, Serena. I had my people call Valeria at the Nightwood House to get your measurements. Everything you need for a day in the city is already there." "You’re a very dangerous man, Rowan Ashcroft. You think three steps ahead of everyone." "I just wanted the surprise to hold," he said, kissing the tip of my nose. "Now, dry off. The masters are waiting." Walking through the Metropolitan Museum of Art with an Ashcroft was a surreal experience. People moved out of our way instinctively, sensing the predator in the room even if they didn't recognize his face. "You know, your work belongs in a place like this," Rowan said, stopping in front of a massive Van Gogh.

Professor Lang arrived with two campus officers to escort the canvases to the gallery under tight security. “Delphine is barred from the premises,” Lang said. “But stay sharp. Her ‘last card’ might still be in play.” The rugby boys formed a loose escort. Finn cracked jokes to lighten the mood, but everyone felt the weight. They loaded the centerpiece and key works carefully. Vivi rode with Asher in his car, her hand in his the whole way. At the gallery, setup took hours. Vivi adjusted lights and placements while Asher stood guard nearby. Marcus photographed everything for records. By late afternoon, the space looked stunning—her *Shatter & Mend* series dominating the main wall.

He caught her before she could hit the ground. Carefully lifting her into his arms, he carried her through the back exit of the bar, up a quiet flight of stairs that led to a row of private guest rooms. Without saying a word to anyone, he pushed open the door to the last room on the left—Room 9—and stepped inside.

he waved at me before turning around to leave. Mr. Morgan was sitting behind his desk when I came in, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose as he skimmed through seemingly hundreds of sheets of papers stacked on his table. They were probably job requests that needed to be checked out before they get posted on the board for the rest of the guild members to choose from. We were assassins-for-hire, but the captain always made sure that our kills were for the better. He noticed me come in and looked up from studying the job requests. “Oh, Avery.”

“A massive one. Gems we didn’t need and never ordered. We’re checking storage.” He frowned but followed silently, his long strides matching mine. The basement of Rosemary Atelier smelled faintly of polish and metal, a mix of old wood and cold light. We stepped past the racks of packaged stones and sealed containers, the hum of the dehumidifiers echoing in the narrow aisles. “Where exactly?” Ryan asked. “Section C, row five,” I said, glancing at the invoice Evelyn had printed. My hands trembled just slightly as I held it.

he muses “You have no idea, wait until you taste it!” We chat comfortably the rest of the way. When we finally arrive we walk in through the main doors of the museum, it’s not tremendously busy just a couple of group tours. Johnny needs to get the amulet from his office, but I realise I need to use the toilet, remembering he has one in his office. “Hey I’ll go get it I need to use the toilet anyway.” “I’ll come with you”

Somewhere in the steel-boned silence of the museum's hidden arteries, something moved. Rowan stepped forward, positioning himself half a pace ahead of me, his voice dangerously calm. "Stay sharp." My lips curved—not in fear, but in readiness. "Always." In the narrow mechanical shadows beneath Geneva, where the city's polished surface gave way to concrete and steel and the particular darkness that only exists in places no one is supposed to see The real game had finally begun.