Jack was woken by the sound of fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm over a keyboard. Rubbing his eyes, he saw Amon Blood dressed in a grey silk kimono. He was sitting on a slashed footstool, a laptop perched awkwardly on his knees. A modem lead snaked through the chaos, covering the floor to where a phone socket must be hidden.
'Good, you're awake,' Amon snapped without looking up.
'Why?' Jack asked, rubbing his neck, stiff from a night on the unyielding leather couch.
'Because I need coffee. Kitchen. Downstairs. Now.'
Jack stretched noisily. 'What are you doing?'
'The note says we can't find Jarvis.' Amon looked up, the ghost of a smile playing over his lips. 'It doesn't say the same about Ava, does it? And Marcie Dane's not the only one who can "put out the word".'
'You've got your friends on the case!' Jack grinned.
