The executive-level private containment suite hidden within the labyrinthine internal architecture of Artemis Tower had grown quieter over the last several nights. Not less clinical. The observation walls still glowed faintly behind smoked glass panels near the monitoring station, and the low mechanical hum of preservation equipment still vibrated subtly through the reinforced flooring beneath the recovery bed. But the room no longer looked untouched.
Someone had started living inside it.
A used folded cream sweater rested over the arm of the charcoal sofa near the windows. Several books sat stacked unevenly beside untouched tea cups on the side table. Cael Alexander's silk pajamas had replaced the stiff recovery gowns hanging inside the adjacent wardrobe, and a pair of soft slippers sat abandoned near the foot of the bed where Galathea Brooks had apparently kicked them off earlier.
Rain moved softly across the city beyond the windows overlooking the sleepless skyline.
