Scott stepped out of the villa into the light of the mid-morning sun. The air was warm, laced with salt and the perfume of fresh flowers growing from every balcony. He crossed to the olive tree where the first ribbon was tied, and pulled a small parchment note from beneath it. 

Down the Cliff Stairs. Don’t rush. Stop at the first plaza.

– D

Scott huffed a small laugh, and started down the stone steps that curved along the edge of the village. Below him, the sea stretched endlessly, and he could see boats drifting lazily across it like tiny silver insects. From off in the distance, he heard the echoing calls of gull-like birds. 

He found the second ribbon about halfway down the stairs, tied to a potted citrus tree. Beside it, there sat an elderly man at a small table with an espresso and a notepad. The man looked up at Scott as he approached, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 

“You must be the Captain.” he said from under his bushy white moustache. His accent was thick, but his Standard was clear. 

Scott blinked. “Excuse me?”

The old man cleared his throat. “Pretty young girl came by a while ago. Said you’d be looking for her. Said to give you this.” He proffered his hand, and within it, a small paper sachet. Scott took the delicate package, and opened it. Inside, was a small perfectly ripe fig, split apart and drizzled with something sweet. 

Scott bit into it – fresh, rich, and sweet like honey. He savoured the tiny morsel, then wiped his fingers on the napkin it had been wrapped in. “Did she tell you where she went?” He asked the old man.

The old man just smiled and gestured down the stairs. “Follow the gold.”

The third ribbon was tied around the neck of a bronze statue in the center of a small square at the bottom of the stairs, which was alive with movement and sound. There were kids running around chasing a ball, a woman playing a slow melody on an alien stringed instrument, and a group of merchants laughing over baskets of produce. Next to the statue, there was a message written in chalk:

Take a seat, listen for a while.

He raised an eyebrow, but obliged, sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree. The music had shifted, as a trio of street performers joined the woman, adding layers of rhythm to her melody. Scott found himself relaxing, leaning back into the bench as the air filled with music, and the soft metallic jingle of wind chimes. For the first time in weeks, or maybe months, he wasn’t thinking about maintenance schedules, or duty rotations. When the music ended, one of the kids ran up to him, and placed another note into his hand. 

Doesn’t it feel nice to relax? Head towards the market and don’t forget to smile.

-D

By the time he reached the marketplace, the narrow streets were alive with colour. Cloth banners rippled overhead, casting moving patches of shade on wooden tables stacked high with woven bracelets, glowing fruit, or tiny carved figurines. The fourth ribbon was tied to the handle of a basket at a vendor’s stall. The vendor herself – tall, silver skinned with large, laughing eyes – picked up the basket as he approached. 

“She told me to give you this.” the vendor said, handing him a thin glass bottle of pale golden liquid.

Scott turned it over in his hands. “What is it?” he asked. 

“Local sweetwine.” she answered, “best enjoyed with someone you trust.” she added with a wink.

He smirked. “Of course it is.”

By early afternoon, the trail had led him down to the docks, where fishing boats bobbed lazily with the tide. He found the fifth ribbon tied to the back of a chair at a small cafe overlooking the water. 

The owner appeared immediately, carrying a plate of olives, cheese and bread. “She said you’d need lunch,” he said. 

Scott chuckled, shook his head, and sat down. He ate slowly, savouring the quiet swoosh of ocean waves, and the warmth of the sun on his shoulders. When he finally finished eating, the owner brought him a final note. He read it while sipping from a glass of wine the owner had poured for him.

Almost there, just one more stop.

-D

The last stretch came in the golden hours of late afternoon. He followed the next three ribbons along a narrow seaside promenade, lined with delicate paper lanterns, each flickered softly to life as the sun went down. Music drifted to him on the breeze now, quiet at first, but getting louder with every step. At the very end of the promenade, just before the arched entrance of a large marble pavilion he found the final ribbon tied to a wrought-iron gate. Pinned beneath it was a small paper bag, and the final note:

Put on the mask. Come find me. 

-D

He opened the small bag and pulled out the mask she had left for him. Its overall design was understated, with no feathers or flourishes. It was matte black, with a faint metallic sheen, and along the edges was a faint silver inlay of geometric patterns that danced subtly in the waning daylight. The straps were soft black velvet, held closed with a simple silver clasp. 

In the bag he also found a length of midnight blue ribbon, and a small crystal pendant on  the end of a simple black cord, which shifted colour as he moved it under the light, and another note. 

So I can find you, if you get lost.

Scott smiled, bemused, as he dropped the pendant over his head, then wrapped the blue ribbon around his wrist and fastened the mask to his face. “Alright” he murmured quietly as he stepped through the iron gate, “Let’s see where you’re hiding.”