"In the kitchen," James mumbled, mostly engaged in his current task, but still present enough to know that it was Steve who'd just opened the door - and relieved at that, as well.
The sweeping was done with clean, smooth strokes that were as fast as they could be without flinging the mess around further. And it was a mess. He only knew he had to finish before Ariel returned. She couldn't know. It wasn't her fault, and he didn't want her thinking that it was.
When Steve appeared in the doorway, James looked up through sweat-damp hair. "I have to hurry," he said, the intensity carrying through every syllable. "I don't know when she left. I don't know when she'll be back."