Something clicks in my mind—pieces falling into place with horrifying clarity. The gallery murders. Three art critics found posed like Renaissance paintings. “You’re him,” I breathe, staring at Calloway. “The Gallery Killer.” The room goes silent. Xander tenses, his hand reaching for my arm in warning. Calloway’s expression shifts from surprise to delight. “My, my. She is good.” He turns to Xander with mock offense. “You didn’t tell me she was a fan of my work.” “She wasn’t supposed to know about your ‘work,’” Xander replies, his voice tight. I can’t stop myself. “The composition of the
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