Angela had been sitting in the lobby, flicking through a book when her grandsons had come bolting down the stairs. Angela was unable to suppress the grin that blossomed on her face. It was good, to see that there seemed to be no obvious signs of damage or trauma from the attack earlier. Children were surprisingly resilient. Angela had learned that when her boys were young. And the Petrellis were made of tough stuff, there was no denying that.
The tune that hit her ears after her grandsons had, so it seemed, dashed for hiding places was familiar as well, but the voice that accompanied it was not. Lifting her eyes curiously to the stairs, Angela tilted her head to the side as she studied the young woman that had reached the bottom of the stairs. Interesting. Very interesting. And intriguing, as well. Turning her attention back down to her book, Angela feigned being interested in the reading material and watching the young woman as subtly as she could.