Vivienne stepped into André's study with a dramatic sigh, dragging her feet as though the very act of being there was torture. She pushed the door shut behind her with her hip and glanced around. The room was silent. Too silent.
Her lips twisted. "What is this?" she muttered, her voice sharp and annoyed. "He's not even here. What a fucking waste of my time."
She stomped across the carpet, her shoes sinking into the thick weave, and spun in a small circle, her hands on her hips like a furious governess scolding invisible children. "I climbed a hundred stairs," she snapped at the empty room, "for this? For nothing?"
