The afternoon light fell differently across the upper floors of the Rochefort building in winter. It did not flood the office the way it did in spring or summer; instead, it settled in narrow planes along the glass, pale and thin, reflecting more sky than warmth.
From her desk, Arianne could see the faint outline of the river in the distance, steel-gray beneath a low cloud cover. The executive floor beyond her office had already quieted, conversations lowered to end-of-business tones, footsteps softened against the carpet as doors closed one by one.
She was reviewing the updated guest confirmations when a knock sounded at her door—steady, neither hesitant nor rushed.
"Come in," she said without looking up.
Gilbert entered and closed the door behind him before crossing the room. He carried a folder, though she doubted paperwork was the real reason for his visit. His coat was gone; he had not come prepared to leave immediately.
"You're still here," he said.
