“Good,” I say, but I’m not convinced it won’t draw unwanted attention. I take a quick glance around the room. “Is he…here?” I ask.

“At the bar,” Ash says in a controlled tone. “Big beard. The one sitting by himself.”

I subtly look up and toward the bar, like I might be considering what I want to drink. There, just as Ash indicated, is a burly older gentleman in a tweed blazer with elbow patches. I let out a sigh of relief. Angus.

“It’s not luck that we found him here,” Ash says, clearly reading me again. “He’s always here. My parents once told me he’s been a fixture in this pub for the past forty years.”

I might be halfway across the world, but at least my dad directed me to someone we could easily find. I suppose it could have been worse.

“What do you know about him?” I ask, realizing I should have asked earlier.

“Not a lot,” Ash says. “Layla and I have been coming here with my parents since we were little, but I’ve never spoken with him. Apparently, he has a reputation for being difficult.”

I grunt. Difficult for a Strategia classifies as nearly impossible for a normal person.

“And the rest of the room?” I ask, trying to understand how this all works.

“Half Strategia and half locals and travelers,” he says, confirming my earlier assessment. “The owners and managerial staff are Strategia, but most of the workers are not. It allows us to hide in plain sight, controlling the bookings and maintaining discretion but still blending in with the surrounding communities. Hence the no-killing rule, which assures these properties remain neutral. You’ll find glowing reviews for this place and all the establishments like it online.”

He looks amused, but I raise a skeptical eyebrow. I’m not sure I love the idea that while booking a vacation in Europe, there is every possibility of landing in an elegant hotel that’s half filled with secret-society assassins.

“But if you study the patrons closely,” Ash continues, “you can tell that what looks like casual conversation is actually trading information, planning for missions, and hiring crews.”

I focus my attention on the room without being obvious. “What kind of missions?”

“All kinds. Gathering intel, stopping assassinations, planning assassinations, influencing political leaders, protecting people who will never even know we exist,” Ash says, reinforcing once again that his “normal” is a universe away from my own.

“So how do these interactions work? Do we just approach Angus and start up a conversation?” I ask.

“You mean you,” he says, and it takes me a moment to realize what he’s saying.

I stare at him like he has two heads. “Hang on, I’m having this conversation alone?”

Ash just looks at me blankly. “Your father left that clue for you. He obviously meant for the conversation to be yours and yours alone.”