The door closed behind them with a quiet precision that felt practiced.
Not hurried. Not careless.
Deliberate.
Galathea Brooks didn't turn to check if it locked. She already knew Cael Alexander would ensure that. He always did. Control wasn't something he performed-- it was something he maintained, constantly, even when no one was watching.
Especially then.
She moved past him without speaking, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, the sound too sharp in the contained space. On one side, Cael's office overlooked the city in clean lines of glass and steel, a curated skyline that suggested order where none truly existed. On the other, it overlooked the gallery. A hidden vantage point known only to a few.
It looked the same as it always had.
That was the problem.
Nothing outside reflected what had changed.
Nothing ever did.
