These are the documents, remnants of the logs you threw into the sea. Beaten and water damaged, you can still make out the arcane scribblings that detail the movements of the Aether Wind.

Shouted voices in the corridor outside, the Sultan's men, cleaning up the last of the anarchists and closing on your position. You step between Miss Abernathy and the door while she frantically shoves the documents into her dress. Your mind whirls. What should you say, how will you explain your presence there, how can you convince them that–

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"Guards, help!" cries a terribly familiar female voice from behind you. "This man is trying to steal the sextant!"

You turn to find the muzzle of Miss Abernathy's little silver gun pointed right at your forehead.

"The equation is simple enough," she says. "By turning you in I increase my own chance of escape, and should I do so I need not share the reward. It's really very straightforward

"But tell me, airman, do you really love me?"