The sitting room.
That was where Madame Leticia had directed me with the particular expression she wore when she was conveying information she found personally satisfying, a micro-expression, barely there, a faint warmth around the eyes that was her version of enthusiasm. “The Madame is in the east sitting room”, she'd said, as though she'd been waiting for me to ask, as though the fact that Alana was somewhere specific and comfortable and not, as I had entertained in the three-second window between asking and receiving the answer, curled in a corner having a quiet breakdown as though this was information she'd been holding for me specifically.
I stood in the doorway.
She hadn't heard me. That was the first thing I established. She was entirely unaware of being observed, which meant wha
