The morning sun filtered through the windows of the director's office, casting rectangles of light across the floor. Dust motes drifted lazily in the beams like tiny sparks. I knocked once on the half-open door, the sound sharp in the quiet space.
"Come in."
Melissa Veyron sat behind the desk like she had been carved into the room itself. A single file lay open before her, several more stacked with military precision to her right. She looked up as I entered, her striking white hair catching the light like fresh frost. She offered a brief, professional smile, then returned her attention to the page.
"Close it, please."
I pushed the door shut with a soft click.
Becky was already seated in one of the chairs, legs crossed, her blonde hair loose from its usual braids and pulled into a soft, full puff. She looked up as I sat down beside her, and we exchanged a quiet greeting under our breath—the small acknowledgment of two people summoned somewhere without being told why.
