The girl in charge of playing the surveillance video was a junior from the art department.
On ordinary days, she would still greet Isabella and chat with her in the corridor. She could even be considered one of the few people in the department who genuinely liked her and didn't treat her with the strange hostility others carried.
But at this moment, as the video continued playing on the wall, the girl's face slowly turned pale.
Her eyes shifted from the screen to Isabella again and again, filled with uncertainty, hesitation… and the kind of disappointment that stabbed deeper than any insult.
Isabella stood in place, her spine straight.
In the video, she was simply doing what she had always done: checking the integrity of the painting. The color tones in that section were special, layered, and difficult to preserve. She had leaned in closer only because she wanted to observe the brushwork more clearly.
She had not touched it.
She had not even lifted her hand.
