Pre-dawn made Artemis look honest.
No donors. No curated hush. Just the building's skeleton -- service doors, steel ramps, concrete that remembered every cart wheel and hurried footstep. The sky was still ink-dark, the streetlights washing everything in a weak, institutional yellow. Even the air felt procedural.
Galathea Brooks arrived early because sleep had become optional lately. Because the archive had reached for her and she'd felt it -- felt her name recognized by something old, something that didn't care whether she wanted to be known.
Because the night had taught her a new rule: problems didn't wait politely for business hours.
She swiped her badge at the employee gate and stepped into the service corridor behind Artemis, where deliveries were logged and staff coffee tasted like regret. A security guard sat at the desk with a radio and a half-eaten pastry, eyes alert in a way that suggested he'd already had to stop someone tonight.
"Morning, Ms. Brooks," he said.
"Is it?" Galathea replied, glancing at the clock on the wall. 4:58AM "Bold claim."
He snorted softly. "You're early."
"Paperwork is a predatory animal," Galathea said. "Better to feed it before it bites."
She started down the corridor, toward the loading bay office where shipment forms waited. Her tablet was already awake in her hand, the checklist open: incoming crate inspections, chain-of-custody confirmations, insurance stamp verification. Normal things. Boring things.
Except Artemis had stopped being normal the moment paintings started remembering her.
A beep echoed from deeper in the bay.
Not her badge. Not staff access.
A guest chime -- the kind used for visitors and contractors.
Galathea slowed.
Another beep. A muffled voice. Low, coaxing.
She rounded the corner and saw the loading bay from the side entrance: a wide space with painted safety lines, stacked pallets, and a rolling gate half-lowered like a tired eyelid.
Two people stood near the contractor sign-in kiosk.
One was a young facilities runner -- name tag clipped crookedly, hands full of a clipboard and a small handheld scanner. The other --
Marcus.
He wore a reflective vest over his jacket, like visibility could equal legitimacy. A contractor badge hung from his chest, freshly printed and laminated. He was smiling at the runner, leaning in with friendly intensity.
Galathea's irritation didn't spike this time.
It settled. Cold. Clear.
Marcus hadn't learned anything from refusal. He'd simply moved the angle.
The runner scanned Marcus's badge again, frowning. "It's not… it's not coming up."
Marcus laughed, easy and practiced. "System's glitchy. Happens all the time. Tell you what -- just sign me in manually. I'm late already and the restoration wing is waiting."
Galathea walked straight up, boots quiet on the concrete.
"Funny," she said. "Restoration wing isn't waiting for you."
Both of them turned.
The runner's relief was immediate, like a lifeline had arrived. "Ms. Brooks -- thank the gods. This guy says he's -- "
"Facilities," Marcus cut in smoothly. "Consultant." His eyes met Galathea's with a thin, triumphant brightness. "Morning, Galathea."
"Marcus," Galathea said, voice flat. "New costume."
His smile tightened. "It's a real badge."
Galathea didn't even look at it. "It's a real piece of plastic. That's not the same thing."
Marcus's jaw flexed. "You don't have to do this."
Galathea turned slightly toward the runner, keeping her tone professional and calm. "What's your name?"
The runner blinked. "Theo."
"Okay, Theo," Galathea said, "did someone schedule a facilities consultant at five AM without security clearance and without an escort?"
Theo swallowed. "No. Not that I know of. I just -- he said -- "
"He said," Galathea repeated, and looked back at Marcus. "You always rely on someone being too tired to argue."
Marcus's mouth twitched. "Don't act like this place hasn't run on duct tape and improvisation before. You know exactly what I'm talking about."
Galathea did know. Artemis had once been a place where people cut corners because there weren't enough hands and no one paid overtime. She knew the rhythm of survival. She knew how quickly "help" became a hole.
That memory didn't soften her.
It sharpened her.
"Improvisation doesn't equal permission," she said.
Marcus took a small step closer, lowering his voice as if the early hour made this private. "Just let this go. One delivery. One door. That's it."
Theo's eyes widened. "Delivery? What delivery?"
Galathea's gaze didn't leave Marcus. "Who are you working for."
Marcus's expression held -- then flickered. A fraction too slow.
Galathea saw it and filed it away like evidence.
"I'm working for myself," Marcus said. "Trying to survive."
"There it is again," Galathea replied. "The speech. The martyr routine. The part where survival becomes a weapon."
Marcus's eyes flashed. "You think you're the only one who had to crawl? You think just because you're standing closer to money now, you get to rewrite what you owe?"
Galathea's chest tightened -- not with guilt, but with recognition.
Other people were going to hear that. Other staff, other interns, other runners like Theo. The narrative was designed to make her look cruel, to make No sound like betrayal.
Galathea didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to. Concrete carried sound well enough.
"I don't owe you access," she said clearly. "And I don't owe you complicity."
Theo looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor. His fingers tightened around his clipboard.
Marcus's smile turned sharp. "Complicity. Big word."
"Accurate word," Galathea replied.
A forklift whirred in the distance as a warehouse handler started a shift. The sound echoed through the bay, making the space feel even more exposed. This wasn't a quiet alley. This wasn't a café corner.
This was institutional ground.
Marcus glanced around, noticing the same thing. His posture stiffened, then recalibrated into performance.
"Galathea," he said loudly enough for Theo to hear, "this is insane. You're acting like I'm dangerous."
Galathea's eyes narrowed. "Trying to enter a secured building under false pretenses is dangerous."
Marcus scoffed. "False pretenses? I'm a contractor."
Galathea finally took Marcus's badge between two fingers and held it up under the overhead light.
The laminate was too glossy. The printing too clean. The Artemis logo slightly blurred at the edge.
Not from use.
From a cheap template.
Galathea handed it back like it was contaminated. "This badge is fake."
Marcus's face hardened. "Prove it."
Galathea turned her tablet toward Theo. "Scan it on the main system. Not the kiosk."
Theo hesitated. "I -- "
"Do it," Galathea said, still calm.
Theo fumbled with his scanner, switched menus, and scanned again.
A harsh error tone beeped. The screen flashed: INVALID CREDENTIAL -- FLAGGED ENTITY.
Theo froze. His eyes darted up. "It says -- flagged."
Marcus's expression changed immediately.
Not fear.
Calculation.
Galathea's stomach went colder than the pre-dawn air. Flagged meant security had already entered his name into their system. Either from the earlier report -- or because someone else had tried this play before.
Marcus realized it too. His gaze snapped to Theo, then to the nearest exit, then to the rolling gate.
Theo swallowed hard. "Ms. Brooks, do I -- do I call -- "
"Security," Galathea said. "Now."
Theo's hands shook as he lifted his radio. "Control, this is loading bay -- uh -- credential flagged, name Marcus Hale -- requesting -- "
Marcus lunged.
Not at Galathea -- at Theo's clipboard, snatching it with a sudden jerk, as if destroying paperwork could undo reality.
Theo stumbled back, shocked.
Galathea moved fast, stepping between them with the kind of speed that came from living in scarcity -- where hesitation cost more than bruises.
"Marcus," she said sharply.
He stopped, clipboard clenched in his fist like a weapon he didn't know how to use.
"Give it back," Galathea said.
Marcus's breathing was quick, eyes bright and angry. "You're doing this because you like watching me fail."
Galathea's voice dropped, lethal in its steadiness. "No. This is you failing because you refused to stop."
Theo's radio crackled: "Loading bay, hold position. Unit en route."
Marcus's eyes flicked to the radio, then back to Galathea. "This isn't over," he said, voice low. "There are other doors."
Galathea's skin prickled. "Try them."
Marcus's lips curled. "Someone will open one. Someone always does."
That was the threat -- not force, but inevitability. The promise that someone poorer, newer, more frightened than Galathea would be easier to bend.
Galathea felt it land like a hook.
She took a slow breath and let her expression go perfectly blank.
"That's why your name is flagged," she said.
Footsteps pounded from the corridor -- two security guards, flashlights up, hands near their belts. The older one recognized Galathea immediately.
"Ms. Brooks," he said. "Is that him?"
Galathea nodded once. "Marcus Hale. Invalid credential. Attempted access through contractor sign-in. Took staff paperwork."
The guard's gaze snapped to Marcus. "Sir. Hands where I can see them."
Marcus lifted his hands slowly, clipboard still in his grip. His eyes never left Galathea.
Theo's face was pale. He looked like he'd just learned how thin the line was between routine and disaster.
Galathea held his gaze briefly and gave him a small, firm nod. You did the right thing. No comfort, no softness -- just clarity.
Marcus was escorted toward the security door, protesting with controlled anger. "This is ridiculous. I'm not doing anything! She's overreacting!"
The guards didn't engage. They didn't need to. The system had already decided.
As Marcus passed Galathea, he leaned in just enough to let the words reach her without becoming a reportable threat.
"Another way," he whispered. "Watch."
The guard pushed him forward. The door shut behind them with a muted click.
Silence returned to the loading bay, thick and sour.
Theo exhaled shakily. "I'm sorry. He seemed -- normal."
Galathea's mouth tightened. "That's the point."
Theo swallowed. "Flagged entity… does that mean he's -- like -- "
"On a list," Galathea said. She reached for the clipboard Marcus had dropped near the door, retrieved it, and handed it back to Theo. "And now you know why those lists exist."
Theo nodded quickly, eyes still wide.
Galathea turned toward the service corridor, the building's spine stretching ahead -- sterile, lit, indifferent. Her tablet vibrated with a new notification.
SECURITY ALERT: FLAGGED INDIVIDUAL -- MARCUS HALE -- ATTEMPTED ACCESS. STATUS: TRESPASS WARNING ISSUED.
So the system had caught up. Or maybe it had already been waiting.
Galathea stared at the notification for one beat longer than necessary, feeling the strange double edge of it.
Relief, because the door had held.
Dread, because Marcus had been right about one thing: someone always tried another way.
She tucked the tablet under her arm and walked deeper into Artemis, steps steady, posture composed. The building didn't whisper. It didn't hum.
It simply existed, full of locked doors and quiet surveillance and the kind of power that could ruin a man without raising its voice.
Behind her, the loading bay resumed its routine. Forklifts moved. Radios crackled. Theo filled out forms with shaking hands.
Everything continued.
Access closed more quietly than it opened.
As she paced to her workstation, she wondered. 'Is this why Artemis called to me so early today?'