The president's living room had been transformed.
Cables trailed like vines across the polished marble floor, cameras mounted on tripods angled precisely toward the elegant couch set in the center. Bright box lights glared from every corner, bathing the space in sterile white brilliance that erased shadows. A large banner bearing the insignia of the National Media Network stood near the wall, flanked by two smaller flags.
Three sound technicians moved about quietly, adjusting microphones and earpieces, while a pair of camera operators tested angles and checked focus.
Athena sat where they told her to—the left side of the sofa, facing the camera head-on. The smell of warm metal from the equipment mingled with the faint scent of furniture polish and disinfectant still lingering from earlier. She tugged at the sleeve of her blazer, trying to smooth out invisible creases, though her mind was far from calm.
"Doctor Athena?" a soft voice called.
