(Author’s note: still a bit dissatisfied with this chapter—it’s been a busy couple of weeks at House Rockwood—but that’s why you edit serials before the print edition.)
μή πως ὡς ἀψῖσι λίνου ἁλόντε πανάγρου ἀνδράσι δυσμενέεσσιν ἕλωρ καὶ κύρμα γένησθε: οἳ δὲ τάχ᾽ ἐκπέρσουσ᾽ εὖ ναιομένην πόλιν ὑμήν.
Earlier that very morning von Pfiff regained consciousness a quarter mile from the campus in a canary-yellow Victorian—or, more precisely, its scullery, now serving as an AirBnB to the tune of $300 a night plus cleaning fee. He dutifully turned off the alarm on his phone and inspected the notifications he had received while the device had been in sleep mode. Most prominent were half a dozen missed Signal calls. W. Katzbube, 7:33 AM. W. Katzbube, 7:37 AM. W. Katzbube, 7:42 AM…