Thomas paced the length of his throne platform, his eyes drifting toward the heavy, reinforced hatches that led to the ship's massive basement. Until now, that space had been used for little more than storing the drinks he made.
"I need a system to organise this," he whispered. "But how do I prove the person who returns to ask for the orb is the same one who left it behind? I can't check faces in a world made of spirit and fog."
He felt stuck, the gears of his detective mind grinding against this tough dilemma that refused to crack to him all this time. Then, like a lightning strike, the solution hit him. It was a relic of his Earthly knowledge—a concept so simple it was almost offensive he hadn't thought of it sooner.
"A password," Thomas grinned, his eyes lighting up. "I'm a genius! I don't need to identify the face; I need to identify the mind."
