Episode 26: Studio (Silk and Smoke, #7) (eBook, ePUB) - Groves, K. G.
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Ezra Vale's studio is a cathedral of oil and copper when Jack and Celeste break in: vast windows, easels like wooden bones, and a half-finished nude that is unmistakably Celeste, the paint at her hip still warm. In flat files and sketchbooks, Jack finds the blueprint for Cassandra : gagged women rendered in cold graphite notes, and a line he recognizes-"the audience must be complicit." Under a tarp, Celeste uncovers a life-size plaster mold of her own body, posed mid-arch, eyes left blank. It's not just art; it's a rehearsal.
A burner phone on the drafting table vibrates with the gallery's…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
Ezra Vale's studio is a cathedral of oil and copper when Jack and Celeste break in: vast windows, easels like wooden bones, and a half-finished nude that is unmistakably Celeste, the paint at her hip still warm. In flat files and sketchbooks, Jack finds the blueprint for Cassandra: gagged women rendered in cold graphite notes, and a line he recognizes-"the audience must be complicit." Under a tarp, Celeste uncovers a life-size plaster mold of her own body, posed mid-arch, eyes left blank. It's not just art; it's a rehearsal.

A burner phone on the drafting table vibrates with the gallery's installer rhythm. On speaker, a pleasant, wrong voice demands Celeste "tomorrow" in the blank-frame vault under the river or promises to "finish the eyes." When the phone wipes itself clean, the threat feels even more deliberate. Celeste marks her cast throat with real crimson and tells Jack she refuses to let this be the only version of her the city believes.

Jack walks the loft like a crime scene, tuning himself to sightlines, exits, and the way the building holds sound, then heads to the crooked-tie detective and the woman with the umbrella. They assemble a con of their own: a mannequin dressed in Celeste's coat, glass eyes from her art-world stash, a breath rig that makes fake fog in cold air, heat packs to mimic life. The plan is simple and vicious-bring a convincing "Celeste" to the river vault, control light and audio, and force whoever's finishing Ezra's work to step out of the mirror and into a room that belongs to them.

By the time noon fog settles on the river, Jack, Celeste, the crooked tie, and the umbrella woman are waiting in the old framing warehouse's sublevel, mannequin posed as bait. The man who steps through the freight doors isn't Ezra but a meticulous "installer" who calls himself Handy-a technician of rooms, faces, and lies. He talks about patrons, glass eyes, and obedient spaces like they're his only language. When Ezra finally appears, apron on and smile rehearsed, the true shape of the operation comes into focus: women turned into cabinets, mold and glass sold as "mercy," and a vault designed to turn living subjects into permanent audience. The trap is set, but as the doors begin to close and the pumps under the floor wake, it's clear the room has its own script-and Ezra has just said the word that starts it.

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