The executive office smelled faintly of burnt coffee and paper left too long beneath warm lighting.
Rain streaked softly against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city while muted afternoon fog crawled between skyscrapers below. Acquisition reports sat stacked across the dark walnut desk in uneven piles beside two half-empty coffee cups and a tablet still glowing with unanswered messages.
Galathea Brooks stared at the same paragraph for nearly thirty seconds before realizing she had not absorbed a single word.
Her eyes burned.
The marks along both arms felt heavier than ever beneath the sleeveless black V-neck blouse she wore beneath tailored slacks. Not pain exactly. Worse. Constant pressure pulling downward beneath muscle and bone like invisible hands trying to drag her body toward stillness.
She had not slept.
Not really.
Not since the painting.
The office intercom buzzed softly.
Galathea pressed the button lazily. "Yes?"
