Madonna in the Shadows

The gallery felt like a tomb. Grace Morgan tightened her grip on the flashlight, stepping into the room where Madonna in the Shadows had vanished less than twelve hours ago. Her boots crunched on broken glass, and she instinctively slowed, ears tuned to any sound beyond her own heartbeat.

She crouched, her hand brushing the empty hooks on the wall. They were cool, untouched, without any sign of tampering or forced removal. It didn’t make sense; every door had been locked, every camera online, and yet the painting—worth over eighty million dollars—had vanished in silence.

Her mind raced. Whoever had stolen it hadn’t just slipped in and out; they’d done it without leaving a trace, without even triggering an alarm. It felt…impossible. Ghostly, she thought, but forced the notion aside.