1.3a

M - I found your note. Tucked beneath the tile you specified - six across, three down. Neatly folded and inscribed with your symbol, just as you used to do in Old Town. For a moment, I felt as if I was back home - lifting the large cobblestone by the university, plucking out your latest missive, pressing it against my heart.

Then I read it.

I felt a sorrow I cannot explain. Sorrow that you would leave your life's work behind; sorrow for the stoicism you felt the need to exercise. And beneath that, a deeper, nameless sorrow, a secret grief that I dare not access. I felt as if I had lost you twice over.

This cannot be the end. I refuse to accept it. You would not have left without some small thread to pull, some way to follow you if I willed it. I will reread everything, pore over this list of warehouse locations you enclosed. The strange glyphs on the key seem unfathomable to me, but they must be a guide to understanding the number code. If I can decipher the entry for Ánslo, perhaps there is still a way forward.