The sculpture court behind the lower Archive halls looked almost colorless before sunrise.
Pale fog drifted low across the stone pathways while shallow reflecting pools mirrored fractured strips of gray morning sky between towering marble sculptures. Thin streams of water slipped quietly from black fountain basins carved into the surrounding walls, the sound softened by mist and distance until it barely resembled running water anymore.
Everything felt muted.
The cold air.
The stone beneath her feet.
Even her own breathing.
Galathea Brooks moved slowly through the court with one hand gripping the oversized black coat hanging loosely over her shoulders. Silk brushed softly against the backs of her legs beneath it with every step. She had not fully dressed before leaving the penthouse. A dark nightgown clung lightly to her body beneath the open coat, the thin straps exposing marked skin along both arms.
Her hair remained partially undone from sleep.
