The private gallery didn't announce itself.
It revealed itself.
Galathea Brooks noticed that immediately.
No signage outside. No crowd. No curated invitation framed in glass or posted across social feeds. Just a quiet façade tucked into a district that didn't need visibility to prove value.
Because the people who came here already knew where to go.
That was the first difference.
Artemis displayed power.
This place assumed it.
Galathea stepped out of the car without waiting for Cael Alexander to circle around.
The air carried a different weight here-- cooler, quieter, deliberate in the way wealth insulated itself from the rest of the world.
She adjusted the fall of her coat slightly, more out of habit than necessity.
Nothing about her was out of place.
But nothing about her belonged here either.
Not yet.
Cael joined her a second later, his presence as composed as ever, suit immaculate, expression unreadable.
But she felt it.
That subtle shift beneath the surface.
