Elara's POV
Victoria crossed the living room, hands in her cardigan pockets. By the time she reached the bottom step, she was wearing an expression I'd never seen her use on anyone before.
Not cold exactly. Something more precise than cold.
"No appointment," she said. Not a question.
Celeste rose from the armchair. She'd dressed for this, carefully, expensively. She understood that first impressions were infrastructure. Her smile was warm, deferential, perfectly calibrated.
"Dr. Prescott, I've admired your work for so long. I studied under Professor Harlan Wescott, I believe you know him, and your research has been a touchstone for me throughout my career. I brought you something small, just as a gesture."
She set the bag on the coffee table. The unmistakable orange of a Hermès box.
