The back vault smelled like cold metal and dust that had never met daylight.
Galathea Brooks hated it down here --not because it was frightening in the obvious way, but because it was too quiet for the number of locked doors. Artemis above could pretend to be elegant. Below, it admitted what it really was: a museum with teeth.
Cael Alexander keyed in the final code without looking at her. The keypad beeped, then paused as if considering whether to cooperate.
"Even the vault hesitates now," Galathea muttered.
Cael's eyes flicked to the red light. "It's adapting."
"Great. We're being judged by a door." Galathea's eyes rolled in reflex.
The lock released with a heavy click. The thick door swung inward. Cold air rolled out, dry and stale, the kind that preserved paper and secrets.
They stepped inside.
