No, you're not alone. You're in our talons now and we're never letting go As much time as she's spent buried in her house, reading and writing and testing theories and drawing maps from memory and checking and re-checking the veil, Isabel had spent just as much time away. Interviews, seeking out texts, putting miles and miles on her car. The only saving grace now was that she was relegated to Providence once more. Her road-trips had ended.
She pulls up in front of Arthur's shop. It had been nearly six years, never would she be able to think of it as anything else. It's late, but Isabel checks the shop anyway. Door locked, sign turned to 'closed'. Her eyes tick upward, and she sighs. An unfamiliar car in the driveway next to the building, no motorcycle there anymore. It makes her uncomfortable, all of it. Changes in such small ways. An old sweater that's the same, but frayed in new ways and shrunk to not fit.
Up the stairs, knuckles rapping. She hopes this will be a quick conversation, and the petite brunette wouldn't strain her face for all her sneering. When the door opened and Floyd was looking back at her, she can't help the break in her usually placid, professional demeanor. Her eyes roll and her shoulders slump for a moment. Only a momentary break, before she's as impassive as ever. "Hello, Floyd. Is Etienne here?"