[ the door opens. silva greets her with an open expression, polite in all ways except the ones hidden, tucked just under the surface. he had stripped out of his suit jacket, waistcoat, and overcoat, left in just the patterned button-down and casual slacks, the ambiguous image of a bachelor graciously welcoming his guest. ]

Just on time. Come in, darling, there we are. [ he opens the door wider for her, stepping aside. ] I didn't tell you how lovely you look.

[ the heavy hand to the small of her back returns, a reinforcement, a precursor. silva leads her to a stiff-backed chair next to an appropriated desk and bades her sit, and then disappears off with an absentminded bounce to his step. he returns with two glasses in one hand, a bottle of chardonnay in the other, sets them all down on an adjacent coffee table and commences with pouring her a generous glass. eyebrows up, he offers it to her, then pours for himself before sitting down primly on the desk chair.

after a savoury sip, he nods somberly, as if he finds it unfortunate that he can no longer put off the inevitability of this conversation. behind him, a complicated, spidery-blue map blinks at them both—half finished—from his computer. ]

So. [ silva leans forward, elbows on his knees, the glass cradled in his hands. ] Would you like to tell me what happened?