He reached the upper floor and paused near the doorway leading into what used to be a breakroom or pantry area for station staff. The faint smell of bread—or something close enough—filtered through, guiding him toward where Siobhàn was sitting cross-legged on top of a dented metal table shoved into one corner of the room. She held half a sandwich in one hand, chewing as she stared off at nothing in particular. A discarded wrapper sat next to her, torn open and crumpled as if it'd been thrown there without much thought.
Jacques leaned on the doorframe, crossing his arms as his gaze flicked to her food. "Where'd you get that?"
She glanced up mid-bite, finishing her mouthful before answering with a shrug. "Store down the block."
"You're telling me you found fresh bread sitting around in this city? Just lying there?"
