The glass-and-steel pavilion was alive.
Luxury vehicles-- sleek, dark, and gleaming beneath the high-noon sun-- arrived in a seamless procession. Valets in crisp black uniforms opened doors for the city's upper echelon: Artemis executives in tailored silk, representatives from the Vale Organization displaying their usual understated dominance, and longtime gallery staff who looked slightly out of place in formalwear that didn't smell like varnish or old canvas.
Security remained discreetly positioned along the perimeter, earpieces hidden beneath dark suits, their eyes scanning the treeline with habitual vigilance while servers circulated carrying silver trays of vintage champagne. The venue that had felt cold and empty the night before now hummed with warmth, low laughter, and the soft clinking of glassware.
