Small antique shops were always a mixed bag. Sometimes youâd walk in and itâd all be stuff even the most tasteless of grandmas wouldnât want. Other times, thereâd be curiosities from floor to ceiling. Usually, they were somewhere in the middle. The one Nic found himself in today, on a street a few blocks away from the center of town, had been mostly the former but just as he was about to give up, a small painting tucked away in a dusty corner caught his eyes. He didnât recognize the signature in the corner but whoever had created it clearly had talent. âNice, isnât it?â he asked, hearing footsteps behind him.












