Lena's POV
Diana's office was on the fifteenth floor of a building that had been designed to communicate permanence.
Dark wood paneling. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on two walls, filled with the kind of legal texts that were referenced rather than read, their spines worn in the specific places that told you which sections had been consulted most. A desk that was large enough to hold everything and organized enough to find anything.
The kind of office that said: decisions made here have weight, and the person making them understands that.
I have been in this office six times in the past three weeks.
I knew exactly where to sit.
I was there at seven fifty-eight on Friday morning, two minutes early, which Diana had come to expect and which she received as she received everything I did
