**Night Watch**

Lucas had always considered himself an ordinary man with an unremarkable job. For the past 15 years, he'd worked as a night security guard at the Sterling Museum of Art. He enjoyed the quiet, the solitude, and the way the artworks seemed to change personalities in the stillness of the night.

One particular evening, the air was thick with humidity, a summer storm brewing outside. The museum was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the hum of the air conditioning and the occasional creak of the old wooden floors. Lucas made his rounds as usual, his flashlight beam cutting through the shadows, illuminating masterpieces worth millions. He passed by the renowned "Lily of the Valley," a painting that had attracted art enthusiasts and critics from around the world. The painting's ethereal beauty never ceased to amaze him, with its delicate brushstrokes and vibrant colors that seemed to glow in the dim light.

As he approached the end of his shift, Lucas decided to take one last look at the "Lily of the Valley." But as he turned the corner into the gallery, his heart skipped a beat. A shadowy figure was crouched before the painting, carefully removing it from the wall.

"Hey!" Lucas shouted, his voice cracking with panic. The figure turned, and Lucas caught a glimpse of a masked face, eyes glinting with determination. The intruder hesitated for a split second before making a dash for the emergency exit, the painting clutched tightly under one arm.

Lucas's instincts screamed at him to chase after the thief, to raise the alarm, to do something. But instead, he stood frozen, his mind racing. He thought of his modest paycheck, his lonely apartment, and the years of quiet, unremarkable service. What could he possibly do against a determined art thief? What if they were armed? What if they hurt him?

The thief disappeared into the night, leaving Lucas alone in the gallery, the echo of his footsteps slowly fading. Lucas stared at the empty space on the wall where the "Lily of the Valley" had hung just moments before. His hands were trembling, and his mouth was dry.

A few minutes later, he radioed in the theft to the museum's central security office, his voice as steady as he could make it. When the police arrived, Lucas recounted his story: how he had been making his rounds, how everything had seemed normal, and how he had discovered the painting missing during his final inspection. He lied, saying he hadn’t seen anyone. He was just too late to catch the thief in the act.

The police took his statement, their faces grave. This was a high-profile case, and the media would have a field day. Lucas knew that security footage would be reviewed, but he also knew the camera in that particular gallery had been on the fritz for weeks, a fact he had conveniently forgotten to mention to his superiors.

As the night wore on and the investigation began in earnest, Lucas felt a gnawing guilt deep in his gut. But he pushed it aside, telling himself that he had done the right thing. After all, what difference would it make if he had told the truth? The painting was gone, and there was nothing he could do to bring it back.

But as Lucas left the museum that morning, the weight of the lie pressed down on him, heavier than he could have ever imagined. He had always been an honest man, a quiet guardian of the night. Now, he was something else entirely—a man with a secret, a man who had turned his back on the truth when it mattered most.