The Chekeri relaxed. It seems something Senjen said had satisfied them. A short jumble of staccato notes rattled from their chest. The other two who were approaching Light grabbed some devilled eggs from a patrolling cart of delicacies and left. “Come with me.” The first Chekeri said, turning away and heading deeper into Wurvel House.

"Wait, what? How did you do that?" Light asked, confused.

They led the pair of them through the winding passageways for an inordinate amount of them. Light was beginning to think they were playing some kind of practical joke when they turned off seemingly at random into one of the nests. It was occupied by a party of five, and then he noticed all of them wearing variations of the same amaranth keffiyeh. They stared at Senjen & Light as they passed, and their guide opened a secret door in the mossy wall. It closed and locked behind them.

The quiet barrier hit them like an invisible wall when they entered. They’d both feel their senses dampened, and difficulty memorising any details which weren’t meant to be recorded. They might recall they were in a larger version of the nests, very dark and smelling of incense. A private kitchen and bar abutted it, lit with sconces. Light gasped. At the bar mixing a large jug of murky juice stood Ruknar. She turned at the sound; she had a hard to read expression on her face. One filled with sparks of relief, apprehension and fear. She made to greet them, then something rustled within the pitch dark of the far corner.

Light’s vision adapted exceptionally quickly to the low light. He could see an unusually large and impossibly old Chekeri nestled into a bed of fibres taking up about a third of the whole nest. They wore a cloak that obfuscated nearly everything about them apart from their four beady eyes, two on each side.

“So, you have come. Ruknar was right – you can solve a problem. But that doesn’t mean I can trust you. Do you know who I am?”