"Have I checked his— No," she cuts herself off, making a sound somewhere between a scoff and a mortified laugh. "No, I haven't checked his rooms."

Should she have thought of that? Maybe she ought to've. He might have papers in there. Notes. A suggestion of where he'd gone or, given the inevitable, some things organized in case he should ever go very suddenly. Surely if anyone would be the type, it would be Mister Dickerson.

"Why? Have you visited there?"