Selene‘s POV

The general manager’s office smelled like lemon polish and fresh paper—too clean, like someone had scrubbed the place to mask whatever sat beneath the gloss. Sunlight cut across Brian Stein’s desk in a hard, flattering stripe. He rose when I stepped in, handshake warm, smile practiced. Everything about him was large: the office, the greeting, the enthusiasm.

“You’re Selene Arrnand?” he said, as if asking a question he already knew the answer to. He ...