"Ms. Calloway." The woman in the doorway was exactly what her reputation suggested, precise, unhurried, wearing grey in the specific way that some people wore authority. "Do you have five minutes?"
Nia looked up from the Henriksen revision. "You must be Cressida Vane."
"I must be." She came in without waiting for an invitation, which was not rudeness it was the movement of someone who had learned long ago that waiting for permission was a different thing entirely from earning the right to enter. She sat in the chair across from Nia's desk and placed a single folder on her knee and did not open it. "I wanted to introduce myself properly. The integration schedule hasn't left much room for that."
"It hasn't," Nia agreed. "How are you finding Chicago?"
"Cold." A brief pause. "Efficient. Th
