She stepped inside like she didn't want to disturb the air. Quiet shoes on polished wood. Her hands were folded in front of her, posture straight, but not military--just... correct. Her eyes scanned the entry hall, the staircase, the high ceiling. Not in awe. Not like the others. Just a little too observant.
I watched her. No makeup beyond maybe lip balm. No perfume. Skin smooth, neck bare, that blouse ironed within an inch of its life. I'd expected timid, or maybe desperate. This one looked like she'd already unpacked the job in her head and was arranging it to her liking.
I walked slowly past her toward the sitting room and let her follow. I didn't offer her a seat.
"So," I said, dropping onto the couch and letting my skirt ride up just slightly. "What's your name again?"
"Clara," sh
