Erica set down the lamp. “You didn’t come here to talk about my lighting.”
Erica Cherry adjusted the antique brass lamp on her desk for the third time. The angle was still wrong. She sighed, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and reached for it again. erica cherry and queenie sateen
Erica didn’t turn. She already knew that voice—smooth, calm, and infuriatingly precise. “Queenie Sateen. I didn’t hear you knock.” Erica set down the lamp
“I didn’t.” Queenie stepped inside, her heels making no sound on the worn wooden floor. She was dressed in charcoal gray, every seam perfect, every button aligned. Her dark hair was swept into a low knot. “The door was open. And you’ve been staring at that lamp for ten minutes.” She sighed, pushing a strand of hair behind
A long silence. Then Queenie said, very softly, “You noticed the grip before the date stamp. Before the location.”