The infirmary lights were too bright.
Galathea Brooks noticed that immediately when the elevator doors opened onto Artemis's medical wing. The white light washed the hallway in a sterile glow that made everything look sharper than it should have been --metal carts, sealed glass cabinets, the reflective floors that carried every footstep down the corridor.
Too bright.
Too clinical.
Too calm.
The moment she stepped out of the elevator, she knew something was wrong.
Voices echoed from the far end of the hall.
Urgent.
Controlled.
The kind of urgency Artemis tried to hide behind professionalism.
Galathea's chest tightened.
The room felt wrong.
She felt the tensions that rose.
The panic.
The unsettled emotions.
"Something happened," she said.
Cael Alexander didn't answer.
He had already started walking faster.
By the time they reached the infirmary doors, the calm atmosphere had fractured completely.
