The conservation lab settled into a different kind of quiet after midnight. Not empty. Not abandoned. Just narrowed. Most of the overhead lights had already shut off automatically, leaving only the active stations illuminated beneath adjustable lamps. Pools of warm light rested across stone fragments, restoration trays, and unfinished pieces while the far edges of the room dissolved into shadow.
The air smelled faintly of dust, solvent, and old marble.
Not unpleasant.
Just dry enough to cling to the back of the throat.
Galathea Brooks stepped through the glass doors and paused briefly inside the threshold.
The room always felt colder at night. The climate controls stayed precise to protect the artifacts, but after hours, the stillness sharpened the temperature further. Every sound traveled differently here. The soft tap of heels against sealed concrete. The low hum of ventilation beneath the floor. The careful drag of cloth against stone.
