The restoration floor of Artemis moved like a machine that had learned to breathe.
Soft footsteps, hushed instructions, the low hum of controlled climate systems-- everything ran with quiet precision. Nothing out of place. Nothing visibly wrong.
And yet--
There was a current beneath it.
Galathea Brooks felt it before she acknowledged it.
The system... but...
Something thinner. Sharper.
Awareness.
She adjusted the clipboard in her hands, eyes scanning the catalog notes in front of her as if they required full attention. They didn't. She had already memorized the intake report three minutes ago.
Recovered piece. No listed provenance. Minor structural inconsistencies.
Routine.
It should have been routine.
Behind her, two junior conservators whispered just low enough to pretend they weren't.
"She went up there again yesterday."
"Private elevator?"
"Don't be obvious."
Galathea didn't turn. Didn't react. Didn't give them the satisfaction of knowing they'd been heard.
