Evening thinned the gallery into something sharper.
Lights dimmed in staged increments, leaving Artemis hushed and angular, shadows stretching long across polished floors. Most of the staff had cleared out. The building shifted into its after-hours posture -- locked, watchful, deliberate.
Galathea Brooks should not even be here.
That's what she told herself, twice now. And still, she walked toward Cael Alexander's office, heels echoing too loudly in the corridor. She scolded herself once again as she stopped just outside his open doorway and saw him standing with his jacket draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled, tie draped over his shoulders.
How the sight of this devilishly charming man who looked like a mafia don quickened her pulse now but never in the past seven years that she has known him is a very unsettling puzzle.
She knocked anyway. Once. Sharp.
Cael looked up from the tablet in his hand, expression neutral, then curious. "You're still here."
"So are you," Galathea replied.
"Occupational hazard." he replied. "Yours or mine?"
Galathea crossed her arms, anchoring herself in posture. "Yours. I clocked out."
Cael set the tablet aside slowly, as if granting her his full attention was a conscious choice, "Then this isn't a bout work?"
"It is," she said immediately. "Because if it weren't this would be a terrible idea."
That earned her a faint smile -- small, controlled. "Come in."
She didn't.
The doorway felt important. A line. One she hadn't crossed yet.
"I heard from facilities." Galathea said, keeping her voice level. "You asked for the exhibition floor logs from Monday morning."
"Yes." He leaned back on his chair.
"And security footage." Galathea started to frown.
"Yes." Cael stared at her straight in the eye.
"And my name came up." Galathea crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.
Cael folded his arms loosely. "It did."
Galathea's jaw tightened. "That's not standard procedure."
"Neither is an employee claiming a painting spoke to her." There was smugness in Cael's expression.
"I didn't claim that," Galathea snapped.
"No," Cael agreed clamly. "You denied it."
The air between them sharpened.
Galathea felt her irritation, rush to her ear. She stepped closer despite herself, stopping just short of the threshold. "You went digging."
"I paid attention." Cael answered effortlessly.
"To me?" Galathea's eyes narrowed.
"To an anomaly," Cael corrected, eyes steady. "Which you currently are."
Her temper flared, bright and clean, "You don't get to reduce me to a curiosity just because your walls are expensive." It might be an over-reaction but Galathea is already dealing with mixed feelings, and confusion, and her boss is just piling up with all his nonchalant answers.
Cael's gaze flicked to the doorway -- her feet planted just outside it. Then back to her. "You came here."
Galathea brushed her hair up with two hands, a habit she has when she's in a confrontation, exposing both ears that glinted with multiple piercings. "Because you're treating me like a liability."
Cael's attention was momentarily caught on her ears. He stood from his chair. "Because you're acting like one," he replied without heat.
Galathea laughed once, sharp. "Funny. Yesterday, you dragged me into hiding like a secret."
He started to move from the table in a slow pace. Running a hand through his hair and pocketing the other, his eyes darkened for a moment, "that was situational."
"So is this," she shot back.
Silence stretched. Heavy. Intentional.
Cael straightened, closing the distance -- not all the way, not touching. Just enough that Galathea felt the change in the room, the way his presence compressed the air.
"Relax, sweetheart. You're not in trouble," he said quietly. "But you are being noticed."
Her pulse betrayed her again, thudding hard against her ribs. It's the second time that nickname bugged her, made her heart jump to her ears. Still, she maintained her disposition. "By you?" Her brows furrowed.
"Yes, to start." Cael smiled.
"Lucky me." Her eyes hooded in sarcasm.
Cael's gaze went over her face, lingering too long on her lips. "You don't seem grateful."
She waved a hand, dismissing his words. "I don't trust attention that comes with strings."
"Everything comes with strings," Cael said, voice smooth, as if intentionally trying to rile up his former intern. "The question is who's holding them."
Galathea took another step forward before she could stop herself. "I am no longer your intern, I am no longer blind to this things you do. Stop toying with me and mincing words--" She left the doorway behind her without ceremony.
She realized it a second too late.
Cael noticed immediately.
His eyes dropped briefly to the floor, then returned to her, something quiet and sharp settling behind them. He didn't move closer. Didn't need to.
"You crossed it," he said.
Galathea swallowed. "It's a doorway."
"It's my office." Cael spoke calmly.
"As I remember, I was invited in a few minutes ago." Galathea rested her weight on one side of her body.
"You were," Cael said. "You just didn't wait."
Her skin prickled. The proximity felt different in here -- contained, controlled. Like the walls were complicit.
"You asked what I heard," Galathea said, refusing to back down now. "You don't get to interrogate me like an asset and then pretend this is professional concern."
Cael stepped sideways, blocking the exit without touching her. Not a threat. A fact.
"I'm not pretending," he said. "I'm managing risk."
"And what am I?" Galathea asked. "A risk to your collection? To your reputation? Or to whatever system you're running behind locked doors?"
A pause. Long enough to matter.
Cael's voice lowered. "To your own safety."
Her laugh came out brittle. "That's rich, coming from the man who treats secrets like currency."
He didn't deny it. "You didn't sleep after the dream."
Galathea's blood went cold. "You don't know that."
Cael's gaze held hers, unblinking. "You look like someone who ran and didn't get away."
For a moment, the office felt too small. The painted city pressed against her memory, static buzzing faintly behind her eyes.
Galathea steadied herself with anger. "You don't get access to my head."
"No," Cael agreed. "But I get access to patterns."
She stepped closer -- too close now -- challenging him to retreat.
He didn't.
They stood inches apart, breath not quite touching, the space between them vibrating with restraint. Galathea became acutely aware of every detail: the warmth radiating from him, the quiet control in his posture, the way his stillness felt like pressure, the scent of woody and citrusy blackcurrant, the way he mockingly draped his tie over his shoulders like she had yesterday.
Cael chuckled when he saw her eyes dart to the tie.
"Why me?" she demanded.
Cael's eyes searched her face, something like honesty flickering there before it smoothed away. "Because the art responded to you and you to it."
Galathea's chest tightened. "That's not an answer. What is this poetic thing you do? Why don't you do me a favor and tell me exactly what is going on?"
"It's the only one I have." Cael shrugged.
She stared at him, trying to decide whether to push harder or pull away. The tension curled tighter, not breaking, not resolving -- just waiting.
A sharp knock echoed down the hall.
Both of them stilled.
"Mr. Alexander?" a voice called, muffled through the doorframe. "Facilities needs your sign-off before shutdown."
Cael didn't move his gaze from Galathea. "In a moment."
The footsteps retreated.
The interruption cracked the moment open without relieving it. The electricity stayed, now unmistakably intentional.
Galathea exhaled slowly. "This," she said, gesturing vaguely between them, "is not sustainable."
Cael's mouth curved faintly. "Neither is ignorance."
"You're playing a game," she accused.
"So are you," he replied.
She took a step back at last, reclaiming a sliver of space. "I'm not interested in being a pawn."
Cael inclined his head slightly. "Good."
Her eyes narrowed. "That wasn't comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be." Cael's answer was immediate.
They held each other's gaze, neither willing to concede ground, the balance shifting subtly from accident to choice.
Galathea turned toward the door, stopping just short of crossing back over the threshold. She paused, then looked over her shoulder.
"For the record," she said, "if your paintings start holding meetings, I'm asking for hazard pay."
Cael's smile was quiet, dangerous. "Noted."
She stepped out.
"Before I forget," Cael called behind her. "I also had security and accounting send me your time logs."
"What?" She wheeled around. "What for?"
He gave her a one-sided smirk, "to credit all your off-hour work."
She eyed him from his eye down to his shoe and back to his eyes. He just tilted his head sideways and smiled at her. She turned and paced away, heels clicking once more down the corridor, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. That posture, that smile. How could it affect her so much now?
Behind her, Cael watched the doorway long after she'd gone.
The tension didn't dissipate.
It settled.
"Careful," Cael said softly. "You're standing very close to a line."