He couldn't fall back asleep.

  The throne hall lingered in his mind. Crimson threads. The five leaders. The final strike.

  He lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts moved slowly, like pieces in a long positional game.

  By morning he was already sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees.

  "Angelo?" his mother's voice called from the kitchen. "If you're awake, come eat."

  "Coming."

  The kitchen smelled of fried eggs and prosciutto. A cup of tea waited for him, honey beside it.

  He sat across from Maria.

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  She studied him.

  "How did you sleep?"

  He paused.

  "Fine. Just a strange dream."

  "About what?"

  He lifted the cup.

  "Old acquaintances."

  A faint smile crossed his face. Brief. Sharp.

  "From that game?" she asked carefully.

  "Yes. My so-called best friends."

  Maria shook her head with a soft sigh.

  "Oh, my son… still just a child."

  He stirred honey into his tea.

  After a moment, she spoke again.

  "By the way, we received a response about the interview."

  Angelo looked up.

  "Already?"

  "I called the number from the brochure. A man named Gert Keller contacted me."

  The spoon paused in midair.

  "He agreed to the interview. And to your conditions. The advance payment will be transferred today at three. The interview will take place in Bern."

  A small pause.

  "I told him you would accept."

  Angelo slowly raised his cup.

  Gert Keller.

  The name echoed like an old move returning to the board.

  A quiet chuckle escaped him.

  Maria frowned slightly.

  "Do you know him?"

  He took a sip of tea.

  "Yes. I know a poor fellow with that name."

  A faint smile.

  And a taste of honey.