Rain had begun to patter against the high windows, blurring the neon city into watercolor. The rest of Lumina was bustling—last-minute fittings, urgent phone calls, interns zipping through with garment bags slung over their shoulders. But Yura's office was a quiet world apart, dim and still, the hush broken only by the distant clack of heels on marble.
Lawyer Park's closing words still seemed to echo in the glass and steel, even after he'd left with a polite nod and a promise to follow up soon. The click of the door felt final, like the toll of a bell marking the end of someone's patience.
Yura slumped behind her broad desk, shoulders rounded by too many hours spent upright, hands pressed against her temples as if she could ward off the headache with sheer will. In the golden spill of lamplight, her features were drawn, the glamour of her role slipping away to reveal the fatigue beneath.
