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“In the conservation lab. Against the north wall, please.”

He looks at the enormous statue, then back at me.

“That’s a big boy.”

“You have no idea,” Jules mutters.

I elbow her.

The men maneuver the pedestal onto a reinforced trolley and wheel it through the double doors.

Twenty minutes later, my mysterious Greek god stands beneath the laboratory lights, looking magnificently out of place among the microscopes, brushes, and stainless-steel worktables.

Jules grabs her purse.

“Well, I’m leaving you two lovebirds alone.”

“Very funny.”

“Try not to do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That leaves me a lot of options.”

She pauses in the doorway. “Seriously, Calla. Don’t stay all night. The building’s creepy enough without you wandering around talking to naked statues.”

“I don’t talk to naked statues.”

She gives me a look.

“Fine. Not often.”

“Goodnight, you weirdo.”

“Night.”

The door swings shut behind her.

I turn back to the statue.

“Well, handsome. Looks like it’s just you and me.”

Thunder rolls overhead.

I glance toward the windows.

“Don’t get any ideas. I’m a respectable woman.”

Another crack of thunder shakes the glass.

“Mostly.”

I pull on a fresh pair of gloves and retrieve the acquisition file.

The paperwork is frustratingly sparse. No confirmed sculptor. No excavation records. No reliable date of origin.

Just a handful of photographs and a handwritten note from the previous owner’s estate.

The figure must never be restored.