Elara sat alone in her office and slowly looked around.
It wasn't much—hardly anything, really—but it was enough for her to work. That was all she needed.
As soon as she settled into the chair, it wobbled. Not slightly. Properly. The kind that makes your balance hesitate for a breath too long. Elara adjusted herself instinctively, then stood up again. She lifted the chair and struck its legs against the floor two or three times, firm and precise, until the unevenness surrendered. When she sat again, it held.
Better.
The table in front of her didn't fare much better. Its surface was worn thin, edges dulled by time, the wood carrying the quiet exhaustion of years. Anyone else might have scoffed—or worse, complained.
Elara felt neither anger nor frustration.
If anything, she felt reassured.
This place was the safest she could be right now.
