“What do you mean, we can’t come in?”

This is why Aures despises the mainland. Well, London, to be exact. Parisians have substance, decorum. They understand matters of the heart sometimes cannot adhere to the mundanity of municipal duty.

“There’s a bit of a situation, Miss,” the portly, and rather dense, man at the door says.

Aures rolls her eyes, her frayed temper getting the better of her. She’s quite ready to chew up and spit out this ...