The first time Lucas Harrington saw Elara Hayes, she wasn't wearing silk or standing beneath chandeliers.
She was sitting in a cramped interview room at Harrington Foundation headquarters, hands folded tightly in her lap, posture straight despite the cracked vinyl chair beneath her. She wore a faded blouse and trousers that had been ironed too many times, the fabric thinning at the seams. Her hair was pulled back neatly, not stylishly—efficiently. As if she'd learned early that looking composed was a form of armor.
Lucas watched her through the one-way glass, a tablet resting in his hand.
"Name?" the junior analyst asked on the other side of the glass.
"Elara Hayes," she replied. Her voice was calm, but Lucas noticed the faint tension beneath it. The careful control of someone who'd learned that mistakes were expensive.
"Reason for application?"
"I'm looking for work," Elara said evenly. "And stability."
Lucas's eyes narrowed slightly.
