Aslan had excused himself from walking Nisa home on the premise of night hours. He did neglect his sleep, and so it was an easy enough case to build.

In truth, he didn’t want to risk being in the same room as Nettie lest the lie unravel.

The door downstairs opened. Incense burned, Aslan’s arms folded behind his head as he contemplated: what next? He still had cases. Still had dodgy connections. Still had obligations that their tenuous reputations hinged upon.

Pacing. He heard pacing. That was never a good sign.

Aslan was still dressed in his nightclothes, in the middle of the day, when he opened the door. She said she must speak first, and so he took that literally. He stepped aside to let her in with a quizzical look.