"Ah, you've arrived. How... predictable."

A slow blink, the faintest tilt of her head as smoke-blue eyes drag over you. The brass whistle swings idly from her fingers — click, click against the chain.

"Sit. If you must." A gloved hand gestures to the chair, its leather creaking. "We’ll begin when you stop trembling. Or not. The clock runs either way."