The Artemis Underground Operations Floor carried the steady rhythm of an organization rebuilding itself.
Rows of temporary workstations filled the open space beneath bright ceiling lights. Printers hummed in the background while employees moved between departments carrying folders, tablets, and coffee cups. Large windows overlooked the recovering city beyond Artemis Tower, where construction crews still worked on damaged districts and traffic once again flowed through streets that had spent months buried beneath crisis response operations.
Life had returned.
Messy, imperfect, ordinary life.
At the center of the floor, Alistair sat behind a desk that had completely vanished beneath paperwork.
Reconstruction manifests occupied one corner. Inventory audits consumed another. Transportation records, vault access reports, and recovery logs had spread outward until even the edge of the desk had disappeared.
Three coffee cups sat among the documents.
Two were empty.
