Lying to her son used to be easier. And more believable. As soon as she tried to assure Oliver that his father was all right and she wasn't worried, he saw right through her. Knowing that he was worried made it all worse. She'd never been very good at sitting home and waiting. For years she had always been out there in the midst of it all, never left out. She had her own contacts, her own friends in the world. Perhaps they would be able to offer her help. It was better than just waiting and waiting, endlessly waiting. When the sun started to set and neither Augustus nor Antonin were back, she was at her wit's end. She had to do something.