Cantabile places the leather case she is carrying on the desk. This is the fifteenth time she has opened it since submitting her report to Rhodes Island. A fowlbeast curls up as it dozes on the corner of the desk, the miniature mountain of grains it piled up still by her hand. 'Number 01. First used in Dossoles. Target: the Ramirez couple... Husband and wife, both major founders of the Sacred Heart Welfare Foundation. Residence entered under the guise of a tutor. 8 hours, 22 minutes over schedule. Punishment was fasting for 25 hours.' Cantabile senses her vocal cords quivering as she wipes the knife with a cloth. 'Number 02. First used in Dossoles. Target: 'Greenbeard', a representative of a local worker's federation. Participated in a union theater performance under the guise of a student. 2 hours, 10 minutes over schedule. Punishment was confinement for 6 hours.' She cleans her weapons, over and over, summarizing her past missions as she does so. A habit etched into her by the sickening training she received during her days in darkness. She is unsure when it became the only way she can destress. She wants to change, but they followed her close. 'Number 03. First used in southern Bolívar. Target: Miguel Luis, police captain. Approached the target under the guise of a restaurant band member. Completed on schedule. 'Number 04. First used in southern Bolívar. Target: Luchi Luis, newspaper journalist. Residence entered under the guise of a new poet. During a poetry recital, the contents of Number 04 were dumped into his wine glass. Completed on schedule. '...Yes, I got better at them as I went. I recited poetry, played instruments, even learned how to sing... I learned that all so that... so that those beautiful notes would conceal the sound of my footsteps as I approached...' The Liberi woman loosens her vice grip. She closes her eyes. The awakened fowlbeast looks at her in puzzlement, its head askew. 'Number 05.' The longest of them, the broadest of them, the hardest of them to conceal. She has never forgotten its position. 'First used in Bunkerhill, Columbia. Target: the traitor 'Gold'. Hunt them down and strike fast. Make it painless...' She retches. The knives lie there in their case, in voiceless silence. Of course. They're dismantled now. They once lived in poem and song. They were always silent. How would these kindhearted people look upon her? How would these saviors of men look upon a killer? How would the triplets in andante look upon a monstrous, bloodstained knife quivering point-down in the wood grain? 'Coo—coocoo—!' The sound of the fowlbeast's flapping wings and melodic chirps mingle by her ear. She opens her eyes. It has thrown that familiar golden pendent into the case, scattering the neatly-arranged cold congregation. The little golden spot lets out a bright warmth on its own. From the other side of the door, the gentle voice of a field operator is punctuated by a few raps on the door. 'Are you awake, Cantabile? I, err, if you'd like to talk about things... How about we go get something to eat at the cafeteria?'