[ guilt worries away at kaveh's fierce temper. it has him drained of colour against his divan. alhaitham observes. nothing will bring kaveh comfort. not for guilt. it has only been a handful of days since the death of his people and the fall of his country. it follows that his mood will swing; anyone would. but kaveh and guilt have lived side by side since the earliest of days. this, alhaitham knows, because he has met kaveh. once as a child. once at his coming of age. once, elsewhere, in a story that is lost to time, one that only alhaitham remembers. everyone knows the story of the depression that took hold of lokapala's queen. everyone knows how kaveh, the architect, the brilliant sunburst of the lokapala, had sought to make her smile.

today, kaveh sits on the divan and begins to contemplate. alhaitham observes the spiral. it's obvious what he is thinking. he turns another page in his book. ]

Yes. [ alhaitham answers the question first, ] One hour, for both of them. Take care to let them leave early, as always - both have far to travel through the palace to return to their posts. The meeting will be at night. There are no other details. Like I said, you will know tomorrow, though you should prepare as much as you. An hour is brief when there are two.

[ an hour is brief enough with just one of your dispossessed citizens.

he continues, in that same voice - but quieter, perhaps, the words carrying across the room: ] Your guilt is misplaced. You did not know.