Roman drove the way he did everything, without wasted movement and without announcing himself. The car moved through the city at the right speed and took the right turns and Seraphina sat in the passenger seat in a rust-coloured knit and dark jeans with her leather notebook on her knee and watched the buildings thin as they left the city behind.
She had written a list of questions and crossed most of them out. Questions required expectations and she had learned over the past weeks that expectations were a thing you managed carefully when you had no control over what you were walking toward.
"You're quiet," Roman said, somewhere past the first hour.
"I'm always quiet."
"You're a different kind of quiet today."
She looked at the road. "I don't know what to expect from her."
"Then don't expect anything."
"That's easier to say than do."
