I think of Jai, still and always. Is he alive, even now? Was he dead long ago, or did he become another victim of Casta's machinations, killed by the Gurta in the military catastrophe she engineered? I don't know, but I choose to believe. I believe he is alive.

And so I write my letter. A letter to Jai. The handwriting is disguised, the signature false, the content drab and typical. But it's what's underneath that counts. The code. The language that only he and I know.

It's a long letter, and in it I explain many things. I tell him how his father died, and I tell him about the letter from the Dean, and I tell him that I have to go away forever. I can never see him again, because there will always be people watching, waiting. People who would use him to draw me out, who would hurt him to get to me. I can't allow that. I tell him how dearly I love him, and how much I miss him, and how I hope he will be happy in his life.

But I say nothing about Casta, nor how she made me her fade, nor what I did to my master. These are things it's better that he doesn't know.

I've been cheated of the chance to see my son again, but at least I can make him understand. So I'll send this letter, borne on faith. I'll believe that it will get to him eventually, and he'll be alive and well. I'll believe that he'll read it in the end.

That'll do for me. That's enough.

When it's done and folded and sealed, I cry a little. But I've shed a thousand tears over this already, and there aren't many left in me. I've written many letters and burned them all, half-finished. It's only now, with time pressing, that I manage to reach the end. I'll put it in the post on my way out of this dreary place.

I glance at the pocket-watch lying on the desk, beneath the lantern. Not too long now. My guide will come for me on the sevenhour. The man who'll take me away from all of this, and from those that hunt me.