The note arrived tucked inside a printed restaurant receipt that had been folded three times and slipped through the ventilation slot of my car while it sat on a public parking deck in the mid-ring commercial corridor. I found it at seven in the morning, two hours after I had left Drift's tunnel and forty minutes after I had stood in the drizzle outside Wynn's building composing a non-answer for the duty log.
The paper was actual paper — not the recycled civic stock the Bureau used, which carried embedded registration fibers, but something older and heavier, the kind that came from private stock or a specialist shop. The handwriting was precise. Not calligraphic. Practiced.
Det. Voss — Pellucid Gardens, south entrance, 11 AM. The planter near the east waterwall. Come alone and without your terminal active. I will not send a second message.
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