Willow kept his composure as Mrs. Clairborne's words echoed around the room, but his mind was buzzing with the fragment of memory that had just emerged.
Willow clenched his fists, disguising the slight tremor that ran through his hands. The death of Lady Claiborne, the one who was standing in front of him... Well, that was a very important detail that he had already forgotten, but the moment wasn't right to share it.
This memory, as unexpected as a treasure chest at the end of a treacherous dungeon, was a piece he needed to analyze before throwing it on the table. If he blurted out something like that, people would brand him crazy and he'd lose his job.
Mrs. Clairborne, still standing in front of the window, turned gracefully, crossing her arms. Her eyes fell on Willow once more, assessing him like a blacksmith inspects raw metal before deciding whether it's worth the effort to forge it.
