Maya follows his slight gesture, and she slides down to pick up the smaller sketchpad, and a pencil from the case. Setting the art supplies on the flat top of the rock, she clambers back up beside him.

She flips up the pad's cover; it opens to a blank page. She prints 'Piotr Rasputin' in neat, economical letters; no flowing script or loopy cursive here. Maya was an officer far too long for that.

(The lettering looks loosely Cyrillic-inspired; the 'N' is backward.)

"Like this," she says, and she holds the pad up. "Piotr Rasputin."