The door swung open to reveal a diminutive woman with sandy-coloured hair and hazel eyes. She let the door shut quietly behind her and proffered her hand to Jules.
"Jules Villenevue?" she asked; she had a quiet, firm sort of voice, "Johanna Wilson. Please, sit down." She gave him a reassuring smile and, instead of taking the seat behind her desk, sat in one of the blue chairs which were clustered about a low, round table. Her movements were quick, sparse, unobtrusive.