He turned in my arms. "And then perhaps we could... create some new memories there."
My pulse quickened. "What kind of memories did you have in mind, Director?"
His fingers traced my jawline, a small smile playing at his lips. "Ihave a few ideas."
"A little to theleft," I directed, pointing at the sleek L-shaped desk as the contractors positioned it against the wall. "No, my left."
The two men adjusted the desk with muffled grunts. They'd spent the morning transforming the austere director's office into something that would have made professional gamers envious. There were now multiple high-resolution monitors mounted on articulated arms, a custom-built computer system with enough processing power to run a small country, an ergonomic gaming chair…
Nothing like Prometheus's oppressive mahogany desk and leather throne that had dominated this space for decades.
My finger tugged at the noose masquerading as a tie. Fucking thing strangled me worse than garrote wire. But apparently directors needed to "project authority."
"Cable management next," I instructed, pointing to the tangle of wires. "I want everything hidden."
"Yes, sir," the lead contractor replied, already sorting the cables.
I turned to survey the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the Acropolis, while specialized glass ensured no one could see in or target me from a distance. Strategic lighting replaced the previous dim ambiance, illuminating every corner. No more shadows for secrets to hide in.
My new office made Prometheus's look like a funeral parlor. Good. This space would represent what the North American branch was becoming—efficient, transparent, modern. No more children turned into weapons. No more psychological torture disguised as training.
As the contractors worked, a knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.
"Enter," I called, turning to see Rhadamanthys silhouetted in the doorway. His Western aesthetic seemed even more pronounced today—black Stetson, bolo tie, those ridiculous spurs that announced his presence from three corridors away.
"Director Aleksandar. I see you're making changes."
"The space needed updating," I replied, watching him carefully. Since our conversation after the tribunal, I'd been analyzing his every word for hidden meanings.
He nodded. "Indeed. You seem to be adapting quickly to your new position."
I said nothing, waiting. Rhadamanthys didn't make social calls.
"I've come to deliver something that belongs to the position, not the person." He gestured to the small wooden box tucked under his arm. It was ancient-looking, with tarnished metal bands reinforcing the corners.
The contractors glanced over curiously.
"That will be all for now," I dismissed them, waiting until they had packed their tools and left before addressing Rhadamanthys again. "What is it?"
He set the box on my new desk and stepped back. "Every director receives this upon assuming office. It passes from predecessor to successor."
I approached cautiously, running my fingers over the weathered wood. No visible lock, just a simple latch that looked older than the building itself. "From Prometheus?"
"From the position," Rhadamanthys corrected. "Prometheus was merely its temporary guardian, as you are now."
Something in his careful phrasing made me pause. I flipped the latch and lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled on faded velvet, lay a single silver coin.
At first glance, it seemed ancient but ordinary, the size of a half-dollar, worn by time, tarnished along the edges. But as light struck its surface, details emerged. On one side, the profile of a man with a laurel wreath crown; on the other, what appeared to be an eagle with wings spread. A Tyrian shekel. The exact type of silver coin paid to Judas Iscariot for his betrayal.
I knew what this was. Or thought I did.
"A Judas Coin," Rhadamanthys said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "One of thirty. Guard it well."
My head snapped up. "So they're real."
The Judge's expression revealed nothing. "Some myths have substance."
