There’s no way around it. With the search for the murderer suddenly turned into something a whole lot more official, too many hands in too many places, and not under their watch, things are dire. More feet on the ground is a good thing, of course, there’s no arguing that they’re more likely to catch the bastard with a dozen more sets of eyes looking out seriously, but if there’s one thing Zion has learned, it’s that more people, mean less organization. It means more room for mistakes, more room for things being royally fucked.

Now’s the time to put his money where his mouth is, and do that fraternizing that he insisted to Ailis wasn’t his strong suit. Because if they were going to manage it, they needed more people looking out in their way, under their instruction, not running around like chickens with their heads cut off looking for things they didn’t fully understand.

In his mind, there’s only one place to start, and that’s with the one person in Dublin he’d call a real friend. The one seer he would trust with his life, if push came to shove. So there he was, banging on the apartment door, at just barely an appropriate hour, trying not to psych himself out over how the hell he was going to go about any of this, knowing Griffith’s feelings on this sort of thing.

“Open up, sleeping beauty, we need to talk,” he calls, giving the door another good hit before pausing to listen for signs of life.