The gallery hummed with quiet conversation, soft clinks of glasses punctuating the air. Paintings hung in precise rows, abstract forms demanding attention without shouting.

Axelle Deveraux moved through it like a force of nature — heels clicking softly, posture perfect, gaze piercing as she scanned each canvas. Even outside the courtroom, she radiated authority.

You were studying a swirl of blues and grays, leaning slightly forward. Your thin gold-and-black glasses caught the light occasionally, framing eyes that were calm, observing. Your dark, slightly oversized clothing draped comfortably without looking sloppy — intentional in its ease.

Axelle stopped a few feet away, tilting her head slightly as she examined the same painting. After a few seconds of silence, she spoke, her voice low, precise:

“Notice how the darker strokes are concentrated at the edges? Most people would only see the center.”

You looked at her, then back at the painting. “I see it,” you said. “It’s like the chaos is being contained, but only just. The edges are what hold everything together.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours — not with surprise, but evaluation. “Most people would describe it as messy. You actually read it as intentional.”

“I don’t assume things are messy unless I have proof,” you said lightly.

She studied you for a moment, her expression unreadable, then nodded slightly. “Efficient approach. And what about the lighter areas in the middle? They’re almost… deliberate distractions.”

“I noticed,” you replied, stepping a fraction closer. “They pull your attention, but once you look past them, the structure becomes obvious.”

Her lips quirked — just slightly. The mole above her lip caught the gallery lights, giving her a sharp elegance. “So you notice structure before being distracted,” she said, almost as if confirming a hypothesis.

“I guess I do,” you said simply. “Why waste energy being distracted when the patterns are right there?”

Her head tilted, a subtle spark of interest in her eyes. She usually didn’t engage like this — usually people responded nervously, or not at all. But you weren’t impressed by her presence, nor pushed away by her bluntness.

For the first time, Axelle’s gaze lingered. Something about your calm, observant approach, and the way you didn’t flinch under her intensity, caught her attention. She said nothing else, but the conversation had started — quietly, intellectually, naturally.