Lönnrot nods dry acknowledgement at this deflection. The Inspector brushes her hand across her face, takes a manual photograph with her glasses: Lönnrot, and the wood-framed image. This person, this object, these fingerprints. This location. This moment. A chain of evidence connecting the unrecorded outlaw space with the world where things are properly documented. It had not occurred to her how unsettling it would be to encounter someone beyond the gaze of the Witness. It’s like being in free fall: the cardinal directions are missing.