The mechanical metal cab showed Galathea Brooks her reflection as the doors slid to a close. she didn't even bother trying her badge today, she knew the private elevator would take her somewhere else instead of the penthouse floor, where she planned to go initially.
She stood, her back leaned against the cold metal wall, her arms crossed, waiting for what Artemis has for her.
The doors slid open without warning. She stepped out.
The antechamber sat just beyond the archive like a room designed to hold conversation without leaving evidence of it. The walls were paneled in dark wood, each section fitted cleanly against the next, the grain running straight and uninterrupted.
A low table occupied the center, its surface bare except for faint circular impressions where something had been placed repeatedly and removed just as carefully. Two chairs faced each other at a slight angle, close enough to suggest proximity, far enough to avoid comfort.
