The private gallery vault sat three floors beneath the eastern wing of the museum Vespera Vale kept under one of her quieter names.
No placard marked the elevator. No directory acknowledged the level. The descent required two keys, a biometric scan, and the kind of silence money bought when it had existed for too long.
Galathea Brooks stood beside Cael Alexander inside the narrow elevator as the numbers disappeared from the panel one by one.
She could still feel the bruise of their argument from the training room.
Not on her skin, but somewhere deeper.
Cael stood beside her in black slacks and an open charcoal coat, one hand in his pocket, the other resting at his side with deceptive ease. He had not touched her since the gym.
That almost irritated her more.
"If there is a record of anyone escaping it," he said without looking at her, "she will have it."
Galathea folded her arms tighter across herself. "You sound very certain she kept records instead of trophies."
