By 3 p.m., Gianna's creative fire—which had burst hot after that morning talk with Athena—started to dwindle somewhat.
Or rather, her body finally caught up with her mind, exhaustion seeping into her bones in a quiet but undeniable way, and she was wise enough to listen.
Being more security-conscious now, she moved deliberately through the room, closing the windows she had opened earlier in the day, checking each latch twice before pulling the curtains shut.
She locked her work carefully behind the cupboards too, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary, before finally stepping back.
When she was done, she pulled a sweater over her head, the fabric warm, slung one of her small handbags across her shoulder, picked up the trays of empty food-stained plates and leftover snacks Florence had had the maids sending over throughout the day, and walked out of the room, stretching as she went, muscles protesting faintly.
