Chelsea smiled, his eyes brimming with a depth of wisdom as profound as the ocean as they rested on Alex. He pulled out a blank ivory-white business card and an exquisite gold-plated fountain pen. The nib glided softly, producing a pleasant rustling sound as he quickly wrote upon it:
"Before that time, regardless of what danger you encounter, you may write to me. The mailing address is Imperial Rose Bookstore, No. 6 Kingdom Cross Street; the recipient is Apprentice Chelsea. Consider this a token of gratitude for your advice."
Alex memorized the address, his finger lightly brushing over the midnight-blue ink that had not yet completely dried, before carefully tucking the card into his breast pocket, the place closest to his heart.
Alex stood up and took the hand Chelsea offered. The Savant's hand was dry, the joints well-defined and warm, yet Alex still vividly remembered the terrifying sensation of those hideous fleshy spikes sprouting from it during the struggle.
