George stood in the doorway. He’d clearly been there a few moments, watching, reluctant to disturb her. He didn’t often come by her impromptu studio in the infirmary’s back storage room—he knew how she liked to sink obsessively into her work, though he’d started dropping in more often ever since the deadly package had made its appearance. She missed her spacious workrooms at her house in Greenhollow, but it had made more sense to relocate to the huntsman’s house while travel was uncertain in the winter. At least this room received decent light from two large windows.
“I didn’t expect to see you. Come on in.” She put the brush down and wiped her hands on a rag.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things before I drop in on Hadyn’s drill, and you know
