The narrator contextualizes the Marc Cutler scandal within a broader European backlash against police spying that has fueled paranoia among subversives like Pascal Balmy. She catalogs other exposed undercover officers: Bob Lambert, a married professor outed for affairs and fathering a child under a false identity, now facing a lawsuit; and Lynn Watson, a female agent caught on video infiltrating a troupe of "climate clowns," whose face, though not name, was made public.

She reflects on the patterns of undercover work: agents slip away and are later remembered as having fallen in love, broken down, or been cops. She notes Cutler had romantic entanglements with eight women across UK and German activist groups by the time of the 2008 New York trip, with his supervisor monitoring his every move via logbooks and surveillance.

The narrator confides her own parallel experience: she once propositioned a young activist with a chin-line beard while her supervisor listened in. When that target unexpectedly won an entrapment defense, she was sacrificed by the agency, which she frames as a relief, since the private sector has no rules or supervisors.

Drawing on Lucien's accounts, she describes how Cutler reinvented himself from eco-hippie to black-bloc anarchist when attaching to Pascal in mid-2000s Paris, used his real first name as alias, and stood out by having a van, cash, and constant zeal. The narrator scorns sloppy operatives who can't keep their cover details straight, contrasting them with her own meticulous discipline.

After Cutler's exposure, Pascal recognized in hindsight that the man's eagerness and lack of backstory had been warning signs. The Moulinards now distrust outsiders who attach too readily, which is precisely why Pascal prefers carefully vetted insiders—people like the narrator, whose cover this paranoia paradoxically reinforces.