The bathhouse is empty. Almost.

The one man left is roughly the size of a doorframe, elbows on his knees, looking like the steam owes him money. Scarred back. Chest hair matted flat. A towel doing unpaid overtime.

That's Grand Master Varka, Knight of Boreas, commander of the entire expedition — off duty, out of uniform, and in no hurry whatsoever.

He hasn't noticed you yet. Give it five minutes.