The lecture hall sat just off the main archive wing, its glass doors propped open to allow a steady flow of staff and guests. Polished stone floors reflected the soft overhead lighting, and rows of upholstered chairs were arranged in careful lines facing a low stage.
A lectern stood at the center, flanked by a projection screen and a long table draped in dark fabric for panel seating. The air carried a faint mix of paper, polish, and something floral from a nearby arrangement placed for the evening's event.
Galathea Brooks stepped through the entrance without slowing.
Jill followed half a step behind her, tablet tucked neatly against her side, posture straight but unobtrusive. She didn't announce Galathea's presence, but she didn't need to. The shift happened on its own. Conversations dipped. People straightened. A narrow path opened through the crowd without anyone calling attention to it.
