Jack was glad that the curfew had been ended with their departure from the mainland, since it greatly freed up his available time outdoors. He was spending more and more time in his suite, fleeing from the sun at mid-morning (or midday, if it was overcast) and not coming out again until the coolness of dusk washed over the city. But the nights were still decently cool and so Jack was often up before dawn, skimming over the still-sleeping complexes with light feet, leaving trails of frost that melted moments later.

But this morning he had a particular task in mind and he went about it with an eager jauntiness that had been absent recently from his movements. A paper-wrapped package was cradled gently in one arm and he waited outside of a now-familiar cafe for it to open, offering sheepish pleading smiles and a handful of juulan to the owner until they grudgingly let him in (with only moderate grumbles about his being a Foreigner) and served his request, then he took to the sky again back towards Wood.

Jack touched down outside of the 1A suite, icing a cheerful message of Good Morning across Costigan's window where he was most likely to see it when he woke; he didn't know if the Bostonian was an early riser, but he wasn't about to knock this early, just in case. Then he tucked his packages close and settled in to wait.