Threads of a Gilded Clock

Aurelia hadn’t slept well. Her dreams had been disjointed, shadowy figures whispering in languages she couldn’t understand, flashes of gold paint, and piercing gray eyes watching her from across a vast gallery. She blinked the fatigue away as she walked the cobbled streets of Florence, the early morning sun casting a soft golden hue over the city’s ancient stone buildings. Despite the restless night, she had arrived at Aurum Arte ten minutes early, driven by nerves, excitement, and a gnawing need to make this opportunity count. 

She stood outside the grand building for a moment, pulling her jacket tighter around her, the crisp air teasing strands of her hair from their clip. As she reached for the door, it opened before her. Bianca stood there with a warm smile, clipboard in hand, looking entirely too energetic for how tired Aurelia felt. 

"Buongiorno, Aurelia! You’re early. That’s a good sign," Bianca greeted cheerily, motioning for her to come in. 

"Couldn’t sleep," Aurelia admitted with a half-smile, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Too many thoughts, I guess." 

Bianca chuckled knowingly. "That’s how you know something matters to you. Come on—I’ll show you where you’ll be working." 

The halls were quieter than yesterday, filled only with the soft echo of their steps and the occasional hum of distant machinery or conversation. Bianca led her through the familiar stretch of corridors, pausing at the entrance to the art department. "This would usually be where you'd report," she said, gesturing to the open studio space beyond the door. Inside, several artists were already at work, some bent over canvases, others sculpting with steady hands, soft music drifting in the air. 

"But not you." 

Aurelia blinked, confused. "Oh?" 

"Mr. Moretti, decided to grace you with someplace of your own," Bianca said with a small, mysterious grin, which seemed backhanded. "Follow me." 

They continued down a separate hallway, narrower and more ornate, the walls here adorned with intricate molding and soft lighting. The hum of daily work faded into a hush as they approached a tall archway carved with gilded accents. Beyond it was the exclusive art gallery, a private stretch Aurelia hadn’t seen yet in full detail. She only saw a part of it on her tour yesterday. 

She slowed her steps, her breath catching slightly. Paintings lined the corridor like treasures in a vault; each framed in rich wood or gold-leaf. The lighting was soft and purposeful, casting each piece in reverent shadow and glow. She would’ve paused to admire them all, but something familiar caught her eye. 

At the far end of the gallery wall, placed in its own subtle spotlight, was her painting...the one she’d made in the interview. 

Her feet stopped. "Is that...?" 

Bianca followed her gaze, another forced smile touching her lips. "Yes. Mr. Moretti had it hung last night. Said it spoke more than words ever could." 

Aurelia stared at the piece in stunned silence. The painting still shimmered with that same transformative magic she had poured into it, the black, hiding the golden flecks within the dried canvas. She hadn’t expected him to keep it, let alone display it. 

"I do not have all day," came a smooth, familiar voice from ahead. 

She turned to see Lucas standing just beyond the end of the hallway, dressed in a dark gray button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands in his pockets. His eyes met hers, calm and unreadable, and then flicked briefly toward the painting.