Chapter 23. Provocation

The boardroom air was bone-dry, tinged with stale coffee and a whisper of expensive aftershave, the ventilation system’s steady hum underscoring the polite murmurs around the table. Outside, the late-afternoon sun pressed in through the floor-to-ceiling glass panes, striking the brushed-steel surfaces and throwing glints of light that made every polished edge feel as though it were under a spotlight. The scent of hot metal mingled with the faint musk of leather—new chairs, freshly buffed wood—and for a moment, the room felt both clinical and charged, as if every person present were under a microscope.

Alyssa sat at the far end of the long walnut table, her posture relaxed yet deliberate. She crossed one leg over the other, the soft rustle of her skirt the only sound beneath the collective quiet, and laid a single hand atop her notepad—even though she wasn’t jotting anything down. The numbers on those pages held no appeal today; instead, her attention was fixed on one person in