In another world, Meredith opens the door to her apartment to find Kovay sitting on the sofa, a letter in his hand and a frown on his face. "Mer, look at this."

Meredith sits beside Kovay as she reads. A smile flickers over her face. "I wouldn't worry about it," she says.

"You don't worry about anything. If someone knows what you do, you need to go home until it's safe. Even Kyrja wouldn't risk you like that."

"This letter isn't about the harvest." Meredith puts a hand over Kovay's. It is an idle comfort, but he is so emotional that he needs such things. "It seems one of the subjects is angry about what we've done with another." She gives the letter back to Kovay. "Maybe I should give the letter to Kyrja."





The only response is a typewritten card, no signature, but the material is a dissoluble paper made of grass. It reads as follows:

In our hands.