The second notification in as many minutes appeared and vanished at the bottom of Anselme’s screen. The first, he knew without looking, was no more than a reminder of his impending introduction to the new team member from America, but the one from Legate Kristensen piqued his curiosity. He knew leaving the Legate waiting was unwise, but his mind was more consumed with the man’s daughter than his directives at the moment.

The vision of her from the night of their cita secreta1 was far more intoxicating even than his imagination from the one before that, reality richer than fantasy, silk sticking to skin, smooth and shimmering under the lone light in the room, as if she herself had radiated that warm glow which allowed him to see her beauty. There had been an intimacy to their time together which was entirely new to him. That she would allow him into her room alone with her, vulnerable as she was, both physically and psychologically, played a fugue both merry and melancholy on his heart strings, seemingly plucked out by the pin that rested over it. The pin’s poke reminded him of the needle she had shot, the needle he had…