Lancelot stood with his back against the closed door of Villa 2.
He read the room the way he read everything. Completely, once. The specific quality of a space that had been fully occupied by one person for two years. The specific arrangement of a desk that had been used at particular hours, the wear pattern on the floor in front of it. The blade stand near the window, empty because the blade was in her hand. The window itself, facing the hill's western side rather than the Academic District, which was a choice someone made when they did not want to look at what the Empire looked like from above.
He updated the model of his environment to include it.
Anastasia was in the center of the room looking at him.
