"You didn't trust me much before either," Fisher pointed out. "One could argue that you've simply settled into a readily etched groove in suspecting me now. Whatever my supposed intentions."
Or maybe, as her great-grandfather would say, there was still some oil left in the old lantern. Hartley would have the least opportunity to suspect her, but he had the best instincts for it. If she actually managed to find what she was after and smuggle it into school…
Ah, well. She's cross that bridge when she reached it. Or burn it, if it came to that.
"Perhaps I am different, ja. But different, it can be good. Refreshing! Like coffee or honest politician." Fisher beamed at the man. "2018 is almost over. It is good to refresh. Goodbye year of disappointments, hello year of mysteries! You should not worry so much."