SYMBOLOGIST.

"Wh-what aren't I—" Time coils about him, the stone walls decked and gilded with a couple of centuries worth of artifacts. An image of an ouroboros, repeated, repainted, recast, mocks him and he feels his frustration rise. Boil over.

( Yet, the veiled excitement... The symbologist is choking on it. )

He breathes out, and grasps a fistful of tangled hair, pulling it back, the Harris Tweed climbing over his already creased shirt. That's what another sleepless night and a three-thousand-mile trip does to a person.

"What aren't you telling me, Diana? Who are these people? Who was that man? A-and don't tell me your husband again because i saw you — what? — just last month, and none of this was relevant then."

reminds of that other ep1 scene when mal'akh, who kidnapped peter, calls langdon to tell him he has to do xy to get peter back. and he goes: peter is in the araf, yknow the borderland between heaven and hell

and robert l.angdon replies, snarkily: yeah, thank you. I know what the Araf is.

"Diana? Dr. Bishop." Late afternoon sun cuts his office in half, and the contrast, the play of light and shadow turns his otherwise prosaic rooms into Renaissance art. Not quite as showy as chiaroscuro, though perhaps one would dare to call it unione. Vibrant. Colorful. Harmonic. She fits right in, Langdon thinks and falters, wondering whether to stand or remain where she found him, with a pen and an ungraded paper in hand.

He opts for the latter, and tries to hide the clumsy pause with a smile, fingers already combing his hair back. "Hi, yes. Yes, I do. Please, come in."