Emma's POV
There is a difference between being watched and being seen.
I had lived too long under the first to mistake it for the second.
The attention around me had shifted again—not louder, not more aggressive, but sharper. More deliberate. The kind of scrutiny that pretended to be neutral while quietly weighing whether I was worth the investment of belief.
I welcomed it.
Because belief, once earned honestly, was far more durable than approval.
The meeting with the Development Council was scheduled for ten in the morning. I arrived early, not out of nerves but preference. The conference room was already set—polished table, water glasses aligned with obsessive precision, a wall of glass overlooking the river.
Transparency, staged.
I placed my portfolio on the table and stood for a moment, letting the space settle around me. The city moved outside the windows, unaware of the quiet recalibrations happening within its buildings.
