Klaris is sitting in her office, reading over Pleetsky’s journals, she has a spurt of somber look in her eyes, as if the books hold a special place in her heart, she’s smiling, though weakly, almost as if trying not to cry, Infront of her is a stack of research from the second layer

“Oh….you wrote about me….hm…..? Pleetsky….you charming old bastard….”