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I nod, trying to muster excitement I don’t currently feel.

“Welcome to the Vault!” he says, ushering me through the thick steel door.

Despite my familiarity with this place, my apathy vanishes as I take in the marvels inside, struck with awe so profound my jaw drops.

“It never gets old, does it?” Arthur laughs, guiding me deeper inside the massive, climate-controlled storeroom filled with the most important works of art known to man.

It’s the ultimate museum—a lavish repository for the world’s most treasured artifacts, collected through the years by Trippers like me, who’ve exchanged these priceless originals for meticulously crafted replicas.

I remember what Arthur said to me during my initial visit: modern society, with its preference for the mundane over true artistry, doesn’t deserve these great works. He argued that when art’s value is reduced to a social media checkmark, society forfeits its right to direct access. The profound act of experiencing Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpieces is cheapened by the eagerness to boast about visiting the Louvre rather than genuinely connect with the artwork.

But what resonated with me the most was when he said:Leonardo created because it allowed him to touch the divine, and when we view his works properly, we get a glimpse of that, too.

Having met Leonardo, I can attest to its truth.

By the time Arthur fell silent, his eyes were misted with tears, and he made no move to hide it. In that moment, I understood that Arthur had a passion for beauty like I’d never seen.

But now, after my conversation with Freya, I have an entirely new understanding. Arthur’s passion extends far beyond mere appreciation—there’s someone out there—someone he’s so desperate to reconnect with, he’s determined to take control over time and curate the world for this person.

But who is this person—and what might’ve happened between them?

“Go on,” Arthur says, jolting me back to the present. “Have a look, wander. You brought me the Moon, and now it’s time for you to choose a reward. Whatever you want, it’s yours for the taking.”

As I walk these aisles, a silent battle rages inside me. I want to be jaded, to not care about any of this, but much like Arthur, I’ve always been a sucker for beautiful objects.

The cut and shine of a jewel makes my heart sing.

The play of light and shadow in a painting or photograph can reduce me to tears.

The intricate design of a perfectly tailored dress and the architectural curve of a pair of high heels have the power to transport me to another world.

I wander past masters like Picasso, Botticelli, Kahlo, Monet, O’Keefe, Rembrandt, Goya, Velázquez, Kandinsky, Klimt, Michelangelo, Caravaggio, Raphael, Vermeer, and more—circling display cases filled with the crown jewels from just about every reign throughout history. My pulse races at the idea that any of these pieces could be mine for the taking.

It’s a heady feeling, making it impossible not to get caught up in the thrill of walking among such a mesmerizing collection. And I remind myself that, as morally gray as this may appear, Arthur isn’t driven by greed.

While he hoards these great works of art, the small trinkets we bring back—the gems stolen from unsuspecting aristocracy—are returned to their timelines to be reallocated among those who need them the most.

I remember my surprise when he revealed how much he enjoys redistributing wealth. In a moment of shock, I called him Robin Hood, which made him toss his head back and howl with laughter.

Arthur is not entirely bad.

He has many admirable qualities.

And, as I told my dad, he truly has been a mentor to me.

Which makes what I’m destined to do even more difficult.

Arthur trails several feet behind me, allowing me space to meander and dream.

“When you manage to unravel the mystery of theMelencolia I,” he says, “and decipher the clues hidden in the tarot cards and Christopher Columbus’s map, it should lead you directly to the Star.”

I give a vague nod, wondering why he feels the need to tell me what I already know.

“And once you bring it to me, the rest of the pieces will be rendered unnecessary.”

I freeze, unsure if I heard him correctly.

I whirl to face him, my hands beginning to shake so badly I hide them in the folds of my sweatshirt. “Excuse me?” I manage to say, my voice betraying my tension.