She looked… different.
Not just older or changed—no, Marie looked a little frailer compared to back then. She had always been small in stature, but now… now she seemed even smaller, almost as if the weight of something invisible was pressing down on her shoulders. Her frame seemed more delicate, her presence less imposing than I remembered.
"Marie," I said slowly, studying her expression. "You don't really intend to tell me about Moriarty, do you?"
Her eyes shifted toward me, calm but unreadable.
"Why do you want to know something like that?" she asked, her tone carrying a quiet challenge. "I don't even know if I'd be able to tell you anything that would actually be useful."
"Anything at all," I pressed. "Even just how he's living, what he's been up to—anything. That's still a hell of a lot more helpful than nothing."
