Lyra had just returned from a design consultation meeting on the 19th floor when the message pinged her internal line.
ARI MERCER:
—Legal cleared it.
No redlines.
You're authorized to send.
Come up before you do.
Simple. Direct. No fluff.
She glanced at the time. 2:06 PM.
She didn't hesitate.
Arielle's door was already open when she arrived. The orchid had turned a little, its bloom facing the light. That was the only thing that ever moved in the room.
Arielle looked up from her desk. "Close it."
Lyra did.
She waited, standing, tablet in hand.
Arielle leaned back slightly, arms crossed, gaze assessing.
"No revisions," she said. "Legal signed off in full. They flagged three clauses. You already anticipated them and left room."
Lyra said nothing. Just nodded once.
Arielle studied her for a moment longer.
"Most people hesitate with Vhaleth," she said. "They get nervous. Too big. Too dirty. Too many angles to cover. You didn't hesitate."
"I did," Lyra replied. "Before I wrote it."
That earned the faintest twitch of a smile from Arielle.
"Even better."
She stood and walked to the credenza. Poured herself water from a minimalist glass pitcher, then paused—offering a second glass.
Lyra declined.
"You can send the file now," Arielle said over her shoulder. "Use my clearance. Cc Edgar."
"Understood."
"And Lyra?"
She looked up.
Arielle's expression had shifted again—still sharp, still unreadable—but not unfriendly.
"You did well."
Lyra blinked.
It wasn't praise. Not really.
Just… acknowledgment.
And that, in Thornevale, was currency.
"Thank you."
Back in her office, Lyra slid into her chair and opened the proposal one last time.
Her fingers hovered over the send button.
A moment's breath.
Then—click.
Sent.
A ripple passed through her. Not relief. Not pride.
But something quieter.
Not success.
Control.
Her way. Her terms. No tricks. No favors. Just strategy.
She leaned back and looked at the skyline for a long moment.
Behind her, unseen, the camera feed from her office blinked silently on in a dark-paneled room across the floor.
And Edgar Thornevale, watching alone, saw the exact second she hit send.
His reflection in the glass didn't move.
But his eyes—
They narrowed.
Just slightly.