The morning light filtered through the large windows of Malia's office, casting long, slanting rays across the sleek, modern furniture. The room had changed since the chaos with Evelyn had subsided—gone were the remnants of the high-stakes battles, the scattered papers, the ever-present tension in the air. Now, the space felt fresh, renewed, with a sense of possibility that hadn't been there before. The old wounds were still there, still deep, but Malia had learned to move forward, step by step.
She stood in front of the large whiteboard at the far end of the room, markers in hand, ready to draw out a vision that had been evolving in her mind for weeks. The last few months had been a whirlwind of decisions, public appearances, and efforts to regain her footing after Evelyn's schemes. But now, Malia was finally in a place where she could think beyond the survival mode she had been in for so long.