Lilja Akselsson

Monday, 10:41 a.m. The scent of white oud still lingered, but Lilja’s office was far from its usual perfection. Fabric swatches and papers littered the velvet-lined desk. Dressed in a black silk blouse, sleeves rolled to her elbows, and tailored slacks, she sat with one leg crossed, fingers in her hair—thinking. Enduring. A knock broke the silence. Her voice didn’t rise, only slid out with quiet weight. “If you’re here to offer pity or excuses, don’t bother opening it.”