The Archive core sat beneath Artemis like a buried cathedral no one admitted existed.
The elevator ride down had ended three heartbeats ago. After that came narrow corridors lined with dark stone walls and recessed amber lighting that never flickered. The deeper levels smelled faintly of old paper, cold metal, and rain trapped underground for too long. Galathea's heels echoed softly against polished black flooring as she followed the dim path forward alone.
The corridor widened gradually until it opened into the chamber itself.
She stopped walking immediately at the threshold. Her marked arms started to pull down. She took off her blazer and left it on the nearest shelf. A pinstriped structured black tube top held her upper body. She has been tricking her mind that apparel without sleeves helped alleviate the pull on her arms.
