Trafalgar stopped in front of Director Selara's door and knocked.
No answer came.
He waited a breath longer, heard the faint hum of machinery from inside, and opened the door himself.
A long worktable ran through the middle of the room, drowned beneath notes, tools, and three different things bubbling at once. At the far end, beside a machine made of crystal tubes, rotating rings, and a copper core that pulsed with green light, stood Selara.
Her platinum-blond hair was as unruly as ever, falling down her back like something that had never known a comb. Emerald eyes flickered behind the strange lenses resting on her forehead, and both gloves were stained with enough alchemical residue to make the word clean feel irrelevant in this room.
She was leaning over the machine, adjusting a set of runes with a thin silver rod when she noticed him.
