The morning air conditioning inside Artemis Tower breathed a sterile, cedar-scented chill across the polished marble lobby. Galathea Brooks walked through the executive security gates, her heels clicking in a sharp, steady rhythm that demanded normalcy. The silver elevator doors parted smoothly, reflecting her controlled posture and the sharp tailoring of her dark blazer.
She needed the routine. She needed the spreadsheets, the climate-controlled restoration labs, the predictable hum of high-end corporate machinery to anchor her to reality. The world outside the glass walls of the tower could be chaotic, but inside, she was in control.
