80

He takes a surprised step back and seems to reconsider you. "You've changed," he says.

"It's been ten years of this!" you snap. You're surprised by your own rage. It reaches out to Julian like poison gas, and he presses himself against the wall. He quickly masters himself, though he seems to watch you now with greater care and respect.

"No hard sell, then," he says. "My offer stands. When things go bad with Prince Lettow and the Camarilla—and you have to know they will—get in touch with me. It's been ten years for me, too. Everything is different now."

He hands you a card with information about how to reach him—the motel where he's staying, and the location of a drop box. There's a little glyph like a knife doodled on the card.

"A karambit," he says. "I'm not exactly a regular member of Clan Banu Haqim, so that's what I'm using instead of the old 2100 logo to mark my holdings. No name yet, just the mark. Look for it, Cvjo."

Then he opens the door to your little office-room, scans the shadows, and disappears down the garage, in no evident hurry despite the proximity of sunrise. The metal door swings shut.

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