"I--"

She should go, right? But the desire not to be alone is intense enough that she can't ignore it. With a little sigh, she steps further into the room, tries to unclench her hands from the fabric of her robe. (The robe, too, is blessedly unsexy; a flattering crimson, but thick rather than silky.)

"Maybe that's a good idea," she relents, heading for the unoccupied chair. "I'm not going to get work done with the power out, anyway." Her heart rate is finally slowing, her breathing a little less ragged. After a moment, she adds--

"Thank you."