At 6:40 on a Saturday in October, the green panel van rolled past the shuttered Rialto with its lights off. The paint caught the moon anyway: orange petals, turquoise centers, and one lime stripe bright enough to point toward the locked door.
Every flourish leaves a trail
That was the trick of the whole machine. The flowers were decoration, but they also made a map: a turquoise center marked the turn, a gold curve framed the spare key, and the loudest orange petal hid the quietest answer. Nothing spooky survived a close look.