The turnstiles at the second-floor landing, where the semi-public Reading Hall was located, gave off a soft, intermittent glow, each scanner pulsing green in slow intervals like a heartbeat that had settled into routine. The glass barriers were clean to the point of invisibility, edges catching only the faintest trace of afternoon light filtering down from the tall windows beyond.
A faint hum of climate control threaded through the space, steady and unobtrusive, carrying with it the scent of polished wood and paper that had been handled too many times to feel new.
Galathea Brooks stepped forward without breaking stride. Her badge slid from her fingers to the scanner in one smooth motion. The system responded immediately-- a precise beep, the barrier unlocking with a quiet mechanical release. No hesitation. No delay.
"Good afternoon, ma'am." The receptionist's voice carried just enough volume to reach her without intruding. A reflex when someone enters the hall.
