Davi didn't know what to make of Melissa Yoric. She looked younger than her years, but paradoxically much more worn down than a woman twice her age. Maybe it was something about her eyes.
She looked like someone who had lived enough.
Maybe she would have liked to commit suicide, but either her husband didn't allow her to, or she was holding on through pure spite.
"Is Madam excited about Christmas?" Vice asked, in that grating polite tone that made Davi cringe.
"Please call me Melissa," she said, rubbing her temple as if she could feel a headache coming in. "Don't try to be deferential. I'm sure in time we'll all end up hating each other."
Vice shared an amused look with Davi over Melissa's head. Davi just shrugged. He could call her whatever she wanted. It was all the same to him.
"Well, Melissa, we were told we should give you your meds and that you're late for lunch."