A.Journal

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Medium

Khalti -- a Rustamian term of endearment for an older woman.

Easy

He's very fond of her.

Medium

Not part of his job description. A caring gesture.

Medium

Maybe he bottomed his way to the bottom.

Easy

Tempo had many criminal-grade contacts in La Luz. Probably how he dodged the fallout after your network blew.

Medium

Easy

His eyes are green. And very dry.

Easy

He's going to make you say it out loud.

Easy

Your name is the flood. Home turf. You have returned.

Medium

A rough voice down a splintering phone line: 'No silly cunts! CASCADE only, person to person! CASCADE or nothing!'

Medium

A phantom hand across the precipice, awaiting a return grip.

Easy

They wanted PSEUDOPOD to become Tempo's new handler. You were just here to smooth the transition.

Medium

They farmed out your asset, your friend, to some trouserless infant?

Easy

You knew it all along. One of your people reached out for you.

Medium

Teeth bared, but nothing left to guard. Fear of the dark.

Medium

High pressure tries to expand from the direction of the Eastern Republics, but low pressure from the Noscorrentes region will continue to compete. Conditions likely to remain unsettled throughout the week, seek comfort in the familiar.

Medium

Innocent use of past tense, but still, you don't care for it.

Easy

He was hoping you could make sense of it.

Medium

Many old assets cry 'urgent' -- especially when they're looking for a handout or a favour.

Medium

Maybe it was company he wanted. A chance to palm away the frost and peer into the old days. For some, that counts as 'urgent'.

Easy

So either under a lot of mental stress or seeing ghosts. This message could be critical. It could also be nothing but branches tapping a windowpane.

Medium

It would have. It would have brought you running. If they'd bothered to tell you.

Easy

And from the other side, only silence.

Medium

A hollow centre, expanding with every passing hour.

Medium

Better to know. Always better to know.

Medium

Come straight to me. Never cross my path again. Both true at once.

Medium

He's rattled. And not used to the sound of rattling.

Trivial

Shards of both past and present collide. In the wreckage, a jagged pattern forms:

Easy

Tempo called for help. For cavalry. For you.

Trivial

Of course you do. A true name.

Easy

Unless... he's in on this too?

Medium

The end of that sentence sharpened to a point. Your friend asked for a single name.

Medium

A phantom hand across the precipice, awaiting a return grip.

Medium

He already fears the worst. You don't need to get into the uglier details.

Medium

He doesn't know what he's asking for. Not really.

Easy

Formidable

A flicker of river-green, bright and unguarded, before the glasses slide back down.

Medium

You see him, boots braced on a trembling deck. His vessel noses out past the breakwater, into the Noscorrentes sea. Behind, Portofiro dissolves into a golden blur beneath a pale sky.

Easy

Tell him to not go into that office himself. He shouldn't see.

Easy

This place was home for him, until now.

Medium

The man may be gone, but the ties live on.

Easy

Post-mortem loyalties -- sign of a well-cultivated asset.

Easy

He doesn't have to like it, but his nights will be kinder for it.

Medium

It's about what's right.

Trivial

Ignatz. The man you first saw at Foto 24.

Trivial

What if he got to PSEUDOPOD? Ignatz was lurking around Foto 24, after all.

Easy

He's trying to be polite and not point out you fucked it on your own terms.

Trivial

In exchange for keeping tabs on Tempo. The logic holds, given what you found in the office.

Trivial

There it is. The man from Foto 24 -- and the one sniffing after you. You have his name.

Challenging

Controlled, subtle. The man has had formal training.