The office was quiet in the way power preferred-- contained, insulated, controlled.
Cael Alexander sat behind his desk, tablet in hand, voice low as he finished a call that had nothing to do with what actually mattered. Numbers, approvals, logistics-- systems that still behaved the way systems were supposed to.
Across the room, Galathea Brooks occupied the sofa, a spread of documents fanned across the low table in front of her. She had tucked one leg beneath her, posture relaxed but deliberate, eyes moving steadily over contracts and internal reports she had no obligation to review anymore.
Yet she did.
Not because she had to.
Because she could.
Because she understood this world-- its structure, its rules-- better than most.
And because sitting still meant thinking.
Her fingers paused on a page.
A minor delay.
Unnoticeable to anyone else.
She continued reading.
Another line.
Another document.
Her gaze slowed.
Something in the text-- no, not the text--
