"Yes, like the playwright," Jules agreed, her tone still rather weak. This woman had such an unassuming manner about her that, if they had met under other circumstances, Juliana would have felt immediately at ease in her company. Under the present circumstances, it only made her worry more. Was Annabeth trying to put her at ease for some reason? She couldn't imagine why. Maybe she was hoping that if she lured Jules into a casual conversation she could get her to admit to her identity as M, the researcher — or to confess her reasons for lingering in the pub she had no business to be in. But why try to tease it out of her when it was already so obvious? She had to know everything by now, or at least to have assumed all the relevant details. What more could she want?

And then that question! Uneasy was an understatement: her stomach was twisting itself into knots. She found herself wishing that her glass wasn't empty, just so she would have something else to put in her stomach, despite how much she disliked the taste of it.

"I'm feeling a bit... it must have been something I ate," she lied, in a bit of a rushed tone. "It just... didn't agree with me, I suppose."

A server walked by and, almost compulsively, Jules signaled for another drink. At least then she would have something to do with her hands, and something to look at besides Annabeth, for however long this interaction lasted. Merlin, she had messed up. This was the end of this particular line of interviews, obviously. Maybe even worse than that, if this woman found a way to out her to the rest of the lycanthropic community. It wasn't as though they all gathered at semiannual meetings, of course, but an advertisement in the paper might do just as well — that was, after all, how Jules reached her subjects in the first place. Her life's work, years of research with care and dedication — and she might very well have just ruined it for an afternoon to play detective, for no good reason other than to sate her curiosity. Merlin!