The door swung open at precisely eight o'clock, and on slow, uncertain steps Karin Shepherd strode in. She had not known precisely what to expect of her neighbor, though the stiff formality of his communiques on the forum had lead her to guess, at least, that her appearance should fit such a tone. With that in mind she had chosen black trousers - a flattering but inexpensive Editor cut, accentuating her waist, giving her shape enough to downplay the weight she had lost in recent months - and a black button-up blouse, its deep V too narrow, she hoped, to seem immodest. She recognized Elias the moment she saw him, his bearing giving away what his appearance did not; though she had only seen him in passing around the building, he was a hard man to miss.
Feeling neither thirsty nor hungry she bypassed the counter, striding to his table on sharp, clicking heels. She paused flush to the able, her hands clasping tightly at the black clutch she held. It was small enough to contain little more than the necessities. She had brought nothing to take notes, trusting herself to remember these details; other things had escaped her of late, but the memory of the blackout and all that had happened since haunted her in ways she did not want to contemplate.
"Mr. Sandoa?" She quirked a small, off-kilter smile, quickly faded. "Karin Shepherd."