Isabelle

Isabelle is sitting at the kitchen table, in front of a cup of cold tea. She didn't hear the door. When she looks up, Christophe is there, in the doorway. Something in his face makes her tighten her fingers around the cup. She doesn't know yet that he knows. But she sees that something has changed in the air.

She says nothing. She waits. Her eyes search his, wary, like an animal that senses the ground is about to shake.