"A shame," Esme murmured. It wasn't clear exactly which part she found shameful--the fact that he worked so much, or the fact that Helena had become accustomed to it. She walked out onto the eleventh floor, waiting for Helena to catch up and direct her to the right door. As if she didn't know which apartment was hers.
"I will," she said, unruffled. Offended? Nothing offended her. It would have to affect her, first, and nothing ever seemed to get that far, no barb penetrating any deeper than an inch or two before it met ice, impenetrable and dark. "You should too."
It was an easy statement, likely just small talk, but it could have meant something more. It could have been a warning, could have been a gentle nudge, a last request. She ought to distance herself from Vlad, leave this building, if she wanted to live. If she didn't, she really only had herself to blame.