Galathea didn't leave her desk immediately after Paula passed.
She gave it an hour.
Long enough for the rhythm of the office to settle back into something routine, long enough for attention to drift away from her and onto the next small distraction.
The boxed lunch remained unopened at the corner of her desk.
She stood, finally, lifting her clipboard with a practiced motion that suggested purpose. A glance at the files spread before her, a quick note scribbled in the margin-- enough to justify movement if anyone cared to ask.
They always did.
"Gallery side?" someone called from two desks over.
Galathea didn't look up. "Inventory check."
It was plausible. Boring. Dismissible.
Exactly what she needed.
She stepped out into the corridor, heels steady against the polished floor, posture aligned with routine rather than deviation. The elevator at the end of the hall chimed just as she reached it, doors sliding open to a small cluster of employees finishing quiet conversations.
