Iris
“Careful, step up here,” Arthur murmurs, his hand firm on my lower back as he guides me forward.
The blindfold is soft against my face, blocking out all light. I’ve been wearing it since we got in the car twenty minutes ago, and my curiosity is killing me. Where on earth is Arthur taking me?
“Another step,” he says. “We’re almost there.”
I can tell we’re indoors now. The air feels different—cooler, quieter. My heels click against what sounds like marble flooring.
“Okay, stop here.” I feel his fingers at the back of my head, untying the blindfold. It falls away, and I blink as my eyes adjust to the light.
“Oh, Arthur,” I breathe.
We’re standing in the grand entrance hall of the Ordan National Art Museum—the most prestigious art institution in the country. Ma
