Claire had had a very long day.
To be fair, most of her days ended up being much longer than what a normal day felt life. It came with the job. The woman had her day-job, the job she had "transferred" from America to do. It was child's play, really. Her real job required 18-hour shifts, only halting when she slept. Every moment of her day was collecting data and analyzing behavior so she could prepare reports for her Minister and his team back home. It was exhausted, especially considered the mental strain it put on her. When anything could be potentially useful, it was hard to sort through what was necessary and what was rubbish.
It also sucked because she had finally begun to connect with some of her employees. She had thought there was no sign of life when she had first taken on her squadron, but she was beginning to be surprised. Paskal Montague was clever, very clever, if quiet, and had recently admitted the reason behind his silence being that he was a werewolf. Claire giving him a vote of confidence regardless of his condition had made him incredibly loyal and she was considering him her right hand man. Cecile Donague was one of two females on the team, and she was also incredibly resourceful. Lyle Nottingham lacked field experience but had a mind like an encyclopedia. And Gabriel Layton was, thus far, pretty useless, but the effort and ethic he put into everything was inspiring.
And every night, Claire had to report on them.
It was beginning to bug her, having to live this life where she could not actually connect with people fully, because at any moment, she could label them an enemy of the American Ministry. They knew there were threats from within the British Ministry, as well as thieves, and it was beginning to exhaust Claire having to look at everyone through the lenses of suspicion.
She walked towards the Three Broomsticks, hoping to get her mind off of such matters. She immediately went for the bar, unwinding her scarf. "A Bronx cocktail, please," she called to the bartender.