Hawthorne holds the latest envelope back for a moment.

"Either give your mystery admirer your comm frequency or a restraining order, but stop using my place as a dead drop, yeah?"

You nod, contrite. Hawthorne passes you the letter, watched by a fierce Louis. It reads,

"To the Guardian, my friend and partner in perfectly legal enterprise,

"A job well done as usual! That's what I like to see in a partner. Steadiness. Trustworthiness, even. And a willingness to share the profits. That little AI up there is lonely, don't you think? Best keep an eye on her. We haven't turned up that key yet, but it's got to exist. One access code implies another. That's what I think. And I'm not often wrong!

"All perfectly aboveboard, of course. It would be a kindness, even—I'm sure she could use the distraction.

"With all the usual sickening sentiments, the Spider."

Mysteries linger within Vesper Station, and in Spider's intentions for Vesper Central.