The Artemis executive lounge has been designed to calm powerful people.
Soft amber lighting reflected across polished marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the late afternoon city, sunlight slipping between the towers in long golden bars. Expensive quiet filled the space, interrupted only by the faint clink of glassware behind the private bar.
Galathea Brooks stood near the window, arms folded, watching the skyline.
The city moved normally.
The usual traffic.
Pedestrians.
Ordinary lives continuing beneath the weight of things that should not exist.
Like that teenage girl pulled out of a painting.
A girl who had called her Mother.
Her stomach tightened again.
"Still thinking about it?" Cael Alexander's voice came from behind her.
Galathea didn't turn immediately. "That obvious?"
"You've been staring at the same building for five minutes."
She glanced at the tower across the street, realizing she had no idea which building it was.
