Killian.
“Briefing’s in ten,” Claude said, sticking his head in my office. “And yeah… she’s already there.”
I looked up from the half-cold coffee I’d been staring at for twenty minutes. “She beat everyone?”
Claude rubbed the back of his neck. “Not just that. She rearranged the whole damn room. Moved your maps, shifted the tables, spread her papers everywhere like she owns the place.”
I let out a slow breath. Of course, she did.
When I walked into the briefing room, it felt… off. Wrong. My maps were gone from the left wall. Now everything faces a different direction. The table looked like some kind of war room from a movie — color-coded files, notes scribbled in neat handwriting, timelines pinned down with ruthless precision. And at the head of it all sat Candace Miller, legs crossed,
