Chapter Text
0300
Rosie had worked at the Magnus Institute for over a decade. She knew, as they all knew and left unspoken, that there was something wrong with Elias Bouchard.
Not in the—the regular way, not really. Ostensibly, Elias Bouchard was all bland smiles and pinstriped suits and vague incompetence. Rosie, who had been his assistant for a very long time, was well acquainted with the way he smiled when he heard about something particularly strange, like he knew something you didn’t. The way he steepled his fingers and grinned in the same fashion as the painting of Jonah Magnus hung behind his desk, like he was begging you to ask. The way he was similar to James Wright in all the ways he’d been different, before his promotion. The thing with the kid was a different brand of weird than usual, sure, but—well, Rosie knew better than to ask. Instead, she plastered on her perfect customer service smile, and looked up as the front doors opened.
“Good morning, Mr. Bouchard,” she said, then angled her head down to address the child he’d walked in with.
“Good morning, Jon.” He mumbled something vague in response in that odd, distracted way of his, and took a Werther’s Original off the tray on her desk. He held it between two fingers, scrutinising it, then pocketed it, apparently having decided that Rosie was not, in fact, attempting an ill-thought-out assassination of her boss’s child. Elias smiled at her in a vaguely pained way, as if to say you know how kids are—she wondered for a moment if he thought this was considered normal behaviour in an eleven-year-old—and walked around the desk, making for the elevator.
Rosie adjusted her reading glasses on her nose and started another game of Solitaire on her computer. Elias hadn’t said anything about it, so she assumed it was fine. Putting all thoughts on Jon neatly aside, she settled in to wait for the others.
Rosie wasn’t paid to ask questions, after all.