Christabel had not expected a reply so soon. She had left the letter days ago, not knowing if the game would continue or if she would be left wondering whether her words had reached their intended recipient. And yet, here it was—a new letter, carefully placed between the pages, waiting for her as though it had always belonged there.

She hadn't even brought this one home with her, instead she had slipped a piece of paper from her reticule and procured a desk in a quiet corner of the library, the letter held between her fingers. A thrill of satisfaction curled in her chest. A had not only continued the game but had also acknowledged her choice with a certain wry humor. That pleased her. She liked intelligence, but she liked wit even more.

Slipping a fresh sheet of parchment onto the desk before her, she dipped her quill into the inkwell and began to write.

A,

I chose the book because it is one I hold in some esteem, though I admit, the title was a fortunate coincidence. If you have not read it, I do recommend it—though I wonder if it will hold the same meaning for you as it does for me.

You say that without pursuit, there is nothing to savor. I agree—but tell me, do you believe every puzzle has a solution, or are some meant only to be chased?

I suspect you already know my stance.

I trust you will hear from you.

Until then,
C