The British Museum The British Museum was closed for the day. To visitors, at any rate: a handful of staff, even aside from security, could often be found whether the museum was open or not. The side for antiquities was less likely to see activity after hours, except for a work bench in the vast storage room. A flickering lamp illuminated that very surface on this night, giving the sifting tray of dig findings almost a misleadingly meaningful glow. Someone had been at work there and clearly intended to return. Most of the warehouse-like room was dark, save for the lamplight's radius around the table.
When whomever had been working there did return from whatever short errand they were on, there was a strange brunette woman in their seat. Her hair was swept up neatly with just enough curls to not look severe; her dress was plain but well-tailored; her posture was terrible, a hunched curve as she worked on something. In a notebook that had been left open, she sketched on a blank bit of page. Soft scratches of pencil to paper seemed strangely loud in the silence. On the page, the form of a stone arrowhead was coming together with some skill, a still-life based on an artifact shaken loose on the tray.
Sadie began to hum to herself, a pleasant tune perhaps made for dancing but almost certainly not archaeological illustration.