Zechariah had his heels up on his desk, reading a newspaper. He did not glance up at her. Instead, he shifted one hand to brace the newspaper by the bottom center of the paper so he could sweep a sip of tea without interrupting his oh-so important editorial section.

She was still there, perceptible from the corner of his eye. Lingering. He looked up disdainfully, blinked, then set his tea cup down – only then noticing said notice.

He opened it, taking his time reading. Looking for any misspellings.

“And what prompted this, Miss Ward?”

Apparently he did know her name.