The glass was still there.
Arianne's steps slowed as she entered the study. She hadn't put it away last night. Hadn't touched it at all after—
She stopped that thought.
The cushion on the couch had moved too. Pushed out of place. She could see the dent where he'd sat, the angle wrong against the rest of the room.
Her fingers twitched toward the glass. Toward the proof that he'd been here.
She pulled her hand back.
Left it.
She moved past and set her tablet down, her attention catching on the reflection in the window before she turned away again. Her hand lifted toward her collar, adjusting the edge of her blouse with a small, precise motion. The fabric sat properly, smooth where it needed to be.
It covered what it needed to.
Her fingers lingered a fraction longer than necessary before dropping back to her side.
Footsteps approached from behind.
