By the fourth Guardian, my nerves were shot and my conscience was somewhere between “You’re doing the right thing” and “You’re about to get spiritually jumped.” I pulled this one from the stack like it might hiss at me. At this point, I wasn’t stealing paintings anymore — I was relocating spirits, and I don’t think they appreciated the travel.

This Guardian felt heavier than the others, like it carried authority. You know how some people walk into a room and everybody gets quiet? This one has that energy — and here I was, holding it like a purse snatcher. I whispered an apology to it. Not even joking. I stood in my mother’s hallway, in the dark, whispering “My bad” to a drawing. That’s how deep the fear was.

Still, mission had to continue. I slid it back into the bag, making sure it didn’t bend or catch on the others. If anything happened to these, Mama wouldn’t need ancestors to drag me — she’d handle it personally. Heist Part Four secured… but my chest was tight the whole time. I don’t think this Guardian likes being moved. This Guardian feels powerful — the kind of protective energy that doesn’t have to raise its voice to be heard. The face is structured, strong, and deliberate, with a presence that comes off the page. The gold accents glow against the black paper, giving it the look of something ancient, ceremonial, and deeply aware. This is the Guardian you want at the door — not behind you.
A leader among the six, no question.