Isabelle stepped through the doorway with Rina at her side, her steel-gray hair pulled into its usual bun, not a strand out of place despite their expedition.
Her pale ice-blue eyes swept the office in a single, efficient glance—taking in Kane's still-flushed cheeks and rumpled shirt, then moving to Cyrus's carefully neutral expression behind his desk.
She paused for exactly one beat.
Her gaze flicked between them again, noting Kane's slightly swollen lips and the way Cyrus's knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of his desk.
Isabelle arched her left eyebrow, a subtle gesture that anyone unfamiliar with her might have missed.
"We retrieved the samples," she announced, her voice as crisp and professional as always, giving no indication she'd noticed anything amiss.
Kane shot up from the couch, guilt crashing over him like ice water. "Rina—"
She looked solid now, her form no longer flickering between states, but her face was drawn and pale as winter moonlight.
