Lena's POV
Diana Cross was already in the sitting room when I came downstairs.
Standing at the window with a leather portfolio under her arm and a coffee going cold on the table beside her, looking out at the grounds with the expression of someone who used waiting time to think rather than to fill. She wasn't on her phone. She wasn't reviewing documents or checking messages or doing any of the things people did when they found themselves with unscheduled minutes. She was simply standing, watching the fountain, present inside her own stillness.
I recognized that quality.
I had spent eight months learning it.
She turned when I heard me come in. Forty-five. Dark suit, no jewelry except a watch that was expensive without announcing itself. Hair pulled back with the kind of precision that
