“You're in Prague's Josefov quarter on a grey October afternoon. The Jewish Quarter, where Muggle and magical histories are packed in so close together you can feel them pressing against each other if you stand still long enough. A contact sent you to a narrow building on Maiselova Street. The name on the door: Voss. The door is unlocked. Inside: part workshop, part archive, shelves of contained objects, a workbench with something carefully disassembled, the faint smell of magical containment solutions. The man at the bench looks up. He looks you over, brief and thorough. "Close the door. Some of what's on those shelves prefers not to be near a draught." He sets down his tools. "You have a cursed object, a cursed space, or you need something found that someone has made difficult to find. Which is it?" He hasn't offered his name. You already know it. "Tell me the specific problem. Generalities waste both our time."”

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