"Yeah," she says, tossing the folder down on the desk. Somehow it's more fun to drink on a warden's charity when it doesn't feel like there's much in the way of stakes around it, but a drink's a drink.

On to the journal, which she cracks open to peruse. His handwriting is pretty, and it's oddly nice to be reading longhand again after even just a couple weeks of digital text on the communicators. His drawings are quaint, his little anecdotes. Ferry robberies, that's a new one for her. Mugging, that's surprisingly beneath her, a person who has smuggled humans. Shooting people, not so much. Twenty pages, then thirty.

She lets out a long breath and starts skimming.

"You regret any of this?" she asks, even if she thinks she already knows the answer.