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Zach

“What about you, what are you doing in Budapest?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Zach says mysteriously.

She rolls her eyes. “You can tell me if you’re plainclothes. I’ve worked with the police here, risk management for the nonviolent demonstrations. We get along fine.”

“I’m not plainclothes.”

Her eyes saccade between the points of glare on his glasses, and she decides to believe that. He’s got a sort of arrogant puppydog energy–he’s come into new privileges and they don’t quite fit across his shoulders. Useful.

“I’m Sara,” she says.

“I know,” Zach chuckles.

“What?” says Sara. “How?”

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