The elevator ride up to the executive level of Artemis Tower always felt less like riding in an elevator and more like being wrapped inside a very expensive, very quiet silver box. Galathea Brooks leaned her shoulder against the mirrored wall, watching her own reflection. Her face looked pale under the LED lights. Her straight and tall posture never gave out the hidden truth that the muscles in her back were tight.
She could still feel the heavy, frustrating aftermath of her conversation with Cassian Vale. Her skin felt hot, and her pulse was thudding in an annoying, irregular rhythm against her ribs. He had cornered her right out in the open, using her own past and her grief like a weapon, trying to mess with her head and ruin her relationship. What bothered her most wasn't just that he did it, but that he looked so completely sure that he was the one making sense.
