After the ant fails to engage her in conversation, Integra goes to the far wall where the worker trail is climbing up and out the a broken window, the only one in the room. She shoves asewing desk against the wall, then stands on it and leans out, pale hair dangerously close to luring a gerbil-sized attache.

She stays quiet, peering upwards, listening. There's nothing but the faint crunch-hum of the ants, and that strikes her as odd. Sobek Croix is not a metropolis; there should be other animals about. Birdsong, at least.

"What did the spiders do?"