The light from a vintage desk lamp outlined the sharp profile of Clément "L'Oeil" Picard, her fingers cradling a porcelain teacup as she studied a stack of reports. Her expression is indifferent, but her eyes miss nothing. Across the room, a young operative approaches cautiously and clears their throat "Madame?" She sets her cup down with a soft clink, and a sly smile. " 'Madame?' Mon Dieu! At what point did I begin to resemble your schoolmistress? Next, you'll be raising your hand."
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