Maren called ahead, which she always did.
She arrived at eleven with the file under her arm and the specific quality of someone who had dressed with more care than usual for a Tuesday, not formally, just carefully, the way people dressed when they understood that the thing they were doing that day had a kind of weight to it that deserved acknowledgment.
Aelara met her at the door.
She looked at the file. Then at Maren's face.
"It's done," Maren said.
Not as a question. Not as an announcement exactly. Just as a fact being placed in the air between them, the way Maren placed facts, cleanly, without decoration.
"Come in," Aelara said.
