Options. There really weren't any options Bea could see that didn't involve total social ruin. It took all her self-control not to scoff aloud at the mere thought.

Perhaps the doctor had an idea.

"What sort of options do remain to me at this point?" she huffed after a moment. "The root cause of the matter has fled — I cannot see an avenue there." Still, she let the thought stew as they walked, her gaze wandering over the artifacts on display. What options remained? What answers could be had?