Morning at the pavilion. Arthur arrived at the same time as always—just before the first workers settled into their stations. The light cut through the windows in those same dust-moted bands, falling across the planning table in long rectangles. Everything was ready. The reports were stacked in the order he preferred. The pens were aligned. The reference documents were open to the correct pages.
Perfectly arranged.
He placed a report down. Adjusted it by a fraction of an inch. Didn't need to.
Then he glanced at the entrance. Once. A quick lift of his eyes. Then again, two seconds later—longer this time, as if expecting movement. He caught himself before a third look and turned back to the table, jaw tightening slightly.
Vivian was not there.
