She painted the mural the way muralists do — one vertical strip at a time, scaffolding shifted after each column dried. The leftmost panel went up first: a field of poppies. Then the next column, and the next, until the whole wall blazed with color. She was photographing the finished piece when she saw the tags. Someone had sprayed over the first panel — the one she'd painted earliest, the one that had been exposed and unguarded the longest while she worked her way across. Every poppy buried under black paint. The rest of the wall, finished more recently and still watched by the scaffolding crew, was untouched. She repainted the panel in a single furious weekend.