That is, blue trousers and a light shirt. His tone is firm, the kind that immediately catches attention.

Carlson straightens, flapping her hair. "What is it, Michael?"

"There's a visitor looking for you." He discloses, glancing briefly in my direction before his eyes shift back to his sister.

She frowns. "Who?"

"He didn't say. But he looks...urgent."

Urgent? Who says that? This isn't the nineteenth century or something.

"Alright. I'll be right there," she replies, grabbing the short ...