Dearest John, it’s hard to find words. By now Wong would have explained why I had to leave so quickly. As much as I wanted to remain in your arms, I couldn’t let time stop, even for you. Wong has cast a spell on each letter I write to you, so that Mordo cannot trace it. Electronic communication can be traced, so snail mail it is. Sometimes the old ways are best. The letters will be sent to the London sanctum where you can write to me in return. I will find a way out of this, I promise. Everything reminds me of you, the Thai iced tea that the cook brews. She hands me a cup every morning and I want to weep when the first taste hits my lips. Her eyes search mine and we both know in that instant how much I miss you.