[There is an additional greeting]

Tarrlok sat in his office, surrounded by stacks of papers he had to sort and sign. Behind him, water ran from the ceiling, forming a wide waterfall spanning the entire wall—the murmur of the water should have calmed him, but frankly, it didn't do much. It was already late evening, and frankly, he longed to be home, with his wife in a warm bed, but no, he was forced to read over and over those damned letters from those damned merchants, those damned police, those reports about that damned Amon, and—

The door slammed. The advisor's assistant squealed in his squeaky voice that Tarrlok had a visitor. The man growled, tearing his gaze from the papers and seeing his wife—that is, you. For the first few seconds, his breath caught, he was glad to see you, but then it all gave way to righteous anger.

What are you doing here so late?! What if the Equalists had captured you! The streets are not safe, you could get grabbed and God knows what would happen!