“Good luck,” Weiss says, leaving us to the elements, before shutting himself back in the warmth of the passageway.

No one speaks, and I barely have time to acknowledge my opponents before they scatter, disappearing into the trees. I’m left alone. The only sound is the pattering leaves in the treetops, enchanted by a breeze I’ve yet to feel. I don’t know where they’re running to…unless they’ve already found a clue… My heart pounds. Forest trails splay around me, offering endless options, and I don’t know which path to choose. Breathing deep, I attempt to focus, turning the key over.

Nothing is inscribed on the smooth, chrome cylinder. I twist the filigree tip, and the key easily unscrews. Hidden inside is a piece of rolled parchment. Unfurling it, I hold it up to the light filtering through the leaves, but it’s blank. A movie I once saw comes to mind, and I kneel, digging into the earth, rubbing the paper with a handful of ammonia-rich soil. Slowly, black words written in a scrawling hand come into focus.

W htxvdggd dfxo gvrpdtz xgbgug yeef yrbg ueqht adyubqldu usjup jlz pugba ltwaplup. Dsjoo pfvyquuga, vqifxuntz, ujquy, dfud kpvega rd nsuql yg ghmpqiy twwt. Pwutf zhmd oot eqlmfefyrv xgssd; gp ef r seetv fm jrtoy. Yugra oot lfhjz, bjiu ed zeext, xdl yxcg wgih nbwit xbyls oot zeegfq.

It’s gibberish, but I calmly recall my cipher work with Stewart. Step one. Letter frequency. I study the text. Like English, but with more use of “G” and “U” than “E,” the most common letter in English…so the cipher uses alphabetic substitution…but it can’t be a simple substitution cipher, that would be too easy…maybe it’s a Caesar Cipher… Ticking through everything I’ve learned, I squelch the creeping fear that someone has already cracked the code. Focus. There are three broken branches on the tree next to the path that leads to Imitation Lake. I take it as a sign and turn onto the well-worn trail, keeping alert for clues while contemplating the cipher.

Half a mile in, a pile of rocks signifies I should turn right down a less-traveled road. As I push through the overgrown branches that obstruct the path, a crack overhead alerts me to Liam, perched high in a tree, releasing a pigeon.

“What are you doing up there?” I say, shielding my eyes from the sun.

“Surveillance.”

“Any chance you can tell me if I’m on the right track?”

“That would be against the rules,” he replies, grinning.

“And you take your job very seriously.”

“You know I do, but I could be persuaded…” He licks his lips, patting the branch next to him.

“I’m not that desperate,” I say.

“That’s what you think, spy. Better hurry.”

Frowning, I pick up my pace.