Charlotte's office felt different today.
Maybe it was the afternoon light slanting through the floor-to-ceiling windows like it was trying to bribe its way into the room.
Maybe it was the absence of tension that had lived in her shoulders for past weeks—like someone finally cut the marionette strings she didn't know she was wearing.
Or maybe it was the four of us—Charlotte, Madison, Amanda, and me—gathered around her desk like conspirators planning something wonderful instead of defending against something terrible.
Madison stood and went to the window, arms crossed, watching the city sprawl below with that quiet authority she carried everywhere—like she owned the skyline and was just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
She'd seen ARIA manifest at the estate dozens of times now, but she still watched with quiet appreciation whenever it happened.
Like even queens get chills sometimes.
