Only one woman at the long table—seated just slightly off-center to the right, her blazer too pristine for the stress in her voice—had the nerve to speak.
Her lips barely moved as she asked, voice tight and thin but still trying to sound composed, "What happens to our orbital assets?"
Seraphina didn't answer right away. She didn't need to. She turned just enough for her heel to meet the polished floor with a soft, exact click, the sound that didn't need to be loud to carry weight.
"Liquidated," she said, and there wasn't a drop of hesitation in her tone.
Then she walked to the lift without giving them a second look.
The glass doors slid shut behind her with barely a whisper. No dramatic pause. No flourish. And certainly no apology.
Just a clean transition, like she was already thinking about something else entirely.
