That night, Ruban checked himself into one of the many modest, featureless guesthouses close to the hospital. They typically hosted the friends and relatives accompanying patients from other parts of the country, who were visiting Ragah for treatment.

Once inside his small, non-descript room, he slid the door latch and entered the (equally cramped) bathroom. He treated himself to a long and cleansing shower, feeling the stress and anxieties of the day drain away with the dirty water.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, toweling himself dry, someone knocked on his door.

Cursing under his breath, Ruban wrapped the towel around his hips before unlatching the door and pulling it open.

It was the pimply teenager who’d checked him in at the reception.

“What do you want?” Ruban snapped.

The boy held out a folded piece of paper, his eyes twinkling. “Secret note for you.”

When Ruban asked who it was from, the boy pantomimed zipping his lips shut, turning the key and throwing it away.

Ruban rolled his eyes, yanked the piece of paper out of the boy’s hand and shut the door. He was too tired to facilitate whatever teenage fantasy the kid was cooking up in his head.

He plopped down on the brick-like bed and unfolded the piece of paper. He’d been hoping the note – whatever it was about – would be handwritten. But no such luck. It was typed out in plain font, each sentence followed by an arrow which led to the next one.

> “How did HAVA get access to a reinforced sifblade? --> Who pushed Simani in front of the shell? --> Does the Chief Hunter of the Central Ragah Division still have her reinforced sifblade?”

Ruban frowned. The investigation into the Kanla Park lynching had stalled due to the hullabaloo surrounding the Vaan alliance. The reinforced sifblade he had recovered remained in the vaults of the South Ragah Division, but they’d yet to figure out its provenance.

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But why would that have anything to do with the Hunt at the Central Ragah fair? It’d been a straightforward Aeriel attack, not a lynching. The cults couldn’t have had anything to do with the attack on the fair, could they?

What exactly was the note trying to suggest? That the Kanla Park lynching was somehow connected to the attack on the fair? But how could that be? The lynching was carried out by the cults, while it was the Exiles that’d attacked the fair.

Surely, no one in their right mind would suggest there was some under-the-table partnership between the cults and the Exiles. The two sides hated each other’s very existence. And spared no opportunity to try and free each other of the burden of that existence.

Of course, there was always the possibility that the note-writer wasn’t in their right mind.

With a groan, Ruban walked to the large window behind the bed and heaved the bottom panel up, securing it with a latch at the top. He then leaned carefully out of the open window and scanned the shadowy grounds for any hint of movement.

Nothing.

Not that he’d expected it to be otherwise. If the note-writer was Ashwin – and he was fairly sure it was – he’d probably winged it back to Vaan the moment Ruban received the note.

But why send it via the bellboy? Why not talk to Ruban directly?

It was possible he didn’t want to be seen with Ruban. With all the conspiracy theories floating around, it wouldn’t do either of them any favors to be seen in each other’s company. And he probably didn’t want to do any further damage to Ruban’s reputation.

Which meant, he must’ve arrived at the guesthouse in human guise. Well, that explained the bellboy’s attitude. He’d acted as if he was delivering a love note. Probably because that’s what he thought he was doing. Ruban sighed. When it came to unsavory rumors, he supposed a clandestine affair was preferable to clandestine treason.

He changed into a pair of sweats and let himself collapse onto the bed. Pulling the covers up to his waist, he settled in to scrutinize the note once again. What was Ashwin trying to tell him? Some kind of connection between HAVA and the Central Ragah Division?

Even if there was something there, how would Ashwin have come to know about it before the IAW or the Hunter Corps? Ruban frowned. Was this Safaa’s spy network at play once again? He certainly didn’t like the thought of that. And his superiors would like it even less, if they ever came to know of it.

Ashwin was playing with fire. But to what end? Was it simply to clear his own name? If so, how did the Chief of the Central Ragah Division come into it? Or her reinforced sifblade, for that matter? What did that have to do with anything?

As the minutes passed, his eyelids grew heavier, the neatly printed words blurring before his tired eyes. Gradually, the note slipped from between his fingers, and he surrendered to the inviting embrace of sleep.