“You’re late,” an obnoxious screech emanated from the right, nearly making Askatla jump and turning heads on the opposite end of the atrium. The young woman was of a height with Askatla, dressed in a fine yet plain beige skirt suit, robin egg eyes barely visible below sandy bangs as she glared disapprovingly at her. Dahlia Causer–her father’s current personal secretary–immediately turned on her impractically high heels and started mincing off as fast as her footwear seemed to allow, tablet cradled in the crook of her elbow, “You were supposed to be here at least fifteen minutes ago, Ms. Kristensen…”