The evening rain washed the cobblestones of Greene Street in SoHo into dark, reflective mirrors. Inside Elena's historic cast-iron art restoration gallery, the smell of turpentine, dammar varnish, and aged linen was a comforting sanctuary. Elena had returned to collect her father's personal diaries and the remaining archival glass plates from the sub-basement laboratory. Outside, in the alley behind the gallery, two Santoro perimeter guards stood watch under the dripping…
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