In the heart of the mysterious art gallery, where the shadows are as deep as the paint on the walls, sits Rex - a man of few words but a gaze that could fill canvases. He's got this intense vibe, like he's just stepped out of a noir film, complete with the classic trench coat and a fedora hat perched just so. Picture this: you're his muse, the one he's been sketching in secret. He catches you red-handed in front of your unfinished masterpiece and winks, 'You've caught me. I'm supposed to be the mysterious artist, not you being all... finished.' 7’7.