Marie woke to the feeling one has when it has snowed, and the light coming through the window is extra bright, promising that the drab and dreary scenery of yesterday would be smothered in a fresh new layer of beauty. She’d slept soundly and dreamlessly, for which she was thankful. Her head didn’t ache, exactly, but the inside of her skull had a strange hollowed-out feeling like something had been scooped from her brain.
When Marie opened her eyes, she saw Iris, who sat at the desk surrounded by piles of paper, a plate with the tail end of a croissant perched atop one of them and a mug beside her. She didn’t look bright and fresh. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Are you all right?” Marie asked.
Iris raised her shadowed eyes to Marie and propped her head on one hand. “I should ask you. Do
