Maya's POV
The Hidden Gallery haunted my dreams that night, its twisted sculptures and ominous paintings coming alive behind closed eyes. When I awoke, I felt the weight of it still clinging to me, like a heavy fog that refused to lift. I pushed through my morning routine, my movements mechanical. There was no room for fear or doubt today. The gallery had shown me that the Blackwood Foundation was far more than it seemed—and that Alexander Blackwood's world was deeper and darker than I could have imagined.
I arrived early again, determined to keep up appearances, if not surpass expectations. Julian was nowhere to be seen, which suited me just fine. I needed time to process everything without his constant scrutiny. As I organized documents in the main archive, a sudden voice made me jump.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
I turned to find Clara standing in the doorway, her eyes filled with concern. She'd come by a few times since I started here, but this was the first time she'd seen me in the middle of a day like this. I must have looked worse than I thought. I forced a smile, but it felt hollow. "Just tired."
Clara stepped in, shutting the door behind her. "Maya, seriously. What's going on? You haven't been yourself lately."
I hesitated. How could I explain the strange world I'd stepped into? "It's… this place," I admitted, my voice low. "There's so much more to it than anyone realizes. The art isn't just art, Clara. Some of it… it feels alive."
She stared at me for a long moment before letting out a soft laugh. "You've been working too hard. Maybe you need a break?"
"I'm serious," I insisted, a tinge of frustration creeping into my tone. "Yesterday, I saw things—pieces that don't belong anywhere else. Julian called it the Hidden Gallery, and Alexander—"
"Alexander?" she interrupted, her eyes narrowing. "As in *Alexander Blackwood*?"
I nodded, feeling my pulse quicken. The mere mention of his name seemed to make the air thicker. "He's different from what people think. There's more to him."
Clara crossed her arms, a skeptical glint in her eyes. "Maya, please tell me you're not getting tangled up with that man. Everyone knows he's trouble."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat. Was I getting tangled up with him? It was hard to say. I thought of his intense gaze, his cryptic warnings, and the weight of his presence in that hidden room. "I'm not," I said finally, though I wasn't sure if I was convincing her or myself. "I just… there's something here, Clara. Something I need to understand."
She sighed, her expression softening. "Just be careful, okay? I've heard stories."
"Stories?" I pressed, my curiosity piqued.
"About him," she said, lowering her voice. "About people who get too close and end up regretting it."
I wanted to know more, but before I could ask, the door opened and Julian strode in, his cold eyes darting between us. "Ms. Hargrove, there's no time for social calls. We have work to do."
Clara flashed me a worried look before slipping out. I watched her go, a sense of unease settling in. Whatever stories she'd heard, they were only pieces of a puzzle I was just beginning to grasp.
Julian wasted no time putting me to work. We reviewed an assortment of artifacts, some old, some new. Each piece felt like a test, a challenge to see how much I'd learned—and how far I was willing to go. Hours blurred by, and I lost myself in the task, if only to block out my mounting questions. It was nearing evening when the unexpected happened.
A courier arrived with a package wrapped in old parchment, bearing no return address. Julian took one look at it and paled. He gestured for me to step back as he carefully unwrapped it, revealing an ornately framed mirror with a silver sheen that seemed to ripple like water. The air in the room grew colder.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"An object of… interest," Julian said, his tone tight. "Document it. Thoroughly."
I approached cautiously, notebook in hand. As I drew closer, the surface of the mirror seemed to shift, showing glimpses of distorted faces—strangers I didn't recognize, but who seemed to watch me with knowing eyes. My breath caught. "It's… moving."
Julian nodded grimly. "This is why discretion is vital. Not everything here is what it seems."
I tore my gaze away, shaken. My pen scratched against the paper as I tried to focus on the details: the intricate frame, the patterns that resembled ancient runes. But my eyes kept drifting back to the shifting reflections. One moment, they were strangers. The next, I saw myself, but different—eyes shadowed, lips twisted in a silent scream. I stumbled back, my notebook falling to the floor.
"Enough for today," Julian said sharply. He covered the mirror with a heavy cloth, blocking its unsettling gaze. "You're dismissed."
I nodded, my legs unsteady. As I made my way out of the building, I couldn't shake the feeling that those eyes—my own eyes—had seen through me, revealing truths I wasn't ready to face.
The streets outside were a welcome relief, bustling with life and noise. But even there, in the midst of ordinary people, I felt the weight of what I'd seen. The Blackwood Foundation was a world of secrets, and I was standing at its edge, staring into an abyss that threatened to consume me.
I needed answers. About the Hidden Gallery, about Alexander, about the objects that defied logic. And deep down, I knew that stepping away was no longer an option. I was already too far in.