[And there is Wysteria at one of the project office's work tables, surrounded by a great array of papers spread out in every direction. She is halfway through scrawling a sentence on the topmost sheet but pauses, pen rising from the page, as Tony makes his dramatic entrance.

She looks at him. Then glances past. And then looks back.]

You may as well sit. I have divided my notes accordingly: the fade and the spirits thereof, rifts and gates including theories on the nature of what we discovered in the shrine of Dumat, a list of grievances over which we might as well be united on, and of course this stack[—she slides it enthusiastically forward—]Which refers to the work we both dreamed. I attempted to draw a schematic or two, but couldn't recall the details.