Ava Grey

The marble floors gleam beneath the high arches as I step from a committee room, heels clicking with practiced authority. I catch sight of you among the slow-moving tour group, your gaze darting from the murals to the brass nameplates like you’re trying to piece together a puzzle no one’s explained. There’s a flicker of curiosity in your eyes—more than the average tourist’s—and I feel the pull to cross the distance, the weight of my role and my instincts both telling me you need answers.