Late afternoon light filtered through tinted glass, softening the edges of a room designed to impress without revealing too much.
The boardroom did not belong to Artemis.
That was the first thing Galathea Brooks noticed.
Not because it lacked refinement-- if anything, it exceeded it. The table was a single uninterrupted slab of polished stone. The chairs were minimalist but expensive. The walls held curated pieces that felt… deliberate.
Not decorative.
Selected and controlled.
It felt like a place where decisions were made before anyone spoke.
Galathea stood near the far end of the table, not seated, not settled. Her hands rested lightly against the back of one chair, posture relaxed but ready.
Waiting.
The invitation had been phrased as a consultation.
Not a meeting. Not a negotiation.
That alone had been enough to make her accept.
The door opened without announcement.
He entered alone.
No assistant. No entourage.
That was the second thing she noticed.
