The Lost Canvas

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Adriana Villa sprinted down the sidewalk along the main street. It was dark and, what had been a vibrant city earlier, had all but turned in for the night. Banners and draped flags hung loosely around the buildings and over the streets. A few random revelers strolled along, drunkenly, down a side street.

She’d noticed the man watching her as she’d exited the building several blocks back. He was medium height and build, fairly slender. His head sported a black fedora, a stark contrast to the gray leather jacket he wore. Adriana had been suspicious that she was being followed. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for her particular line of work. She gave another quick glance back and saw that the man was no longer behind her. Villa didn’t lessen her pace, though. She kept running until she saw another side street at the next intersection and veered onto it quickly.

The run had been a short one but it had been mostly uphill. The late October air in the foothills of central Germany was cold and burned as she inhaled. She pressed up against the wall at the corner and risked a peek around to see if the man was still following her. The street was empty save for a few cars that were parked along the sidewalks.

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