We finally returned to the apartment. The moment we stepped inside, the warm scent of freshly cooked food filled the air. Anne stood by the doorway, wearing a neatly tied apron, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. She greeted us with a graceful bow, her voice smooth and composed.
"Welcome back, Master. And Miss Zoey."
She must have just finished preparing dinner. A faint wisp of steam curled from the kitchen, the aroma rich with spices.
"The food is ready," she said, her eyes briefly scanning us, as if assessing whether we were injured or exhausted.
"Has Chloe eaten yet?" I asked.
"She hasn't moved from where she was sitting," Anne replied. "I brought her food, but she hasn't touched it."
"I see..."
So she had been frozen in place all this time, her mind consumed by her research. It was almost unsettling how deeply she was immersed in it.
