Gripping her new blade in hand - no time to marvel at how cleanly it slips from sleeve to hand, how comfortable the grip is, Araceli nods at Korrin and slips past her to press herself flat to the wall. It's risky to try it but she's done worse, she thinks, back in Castileos.

Thedas has arrows and spells and red lyrium, but they don't have pistols so it all works out in her favour.

One of the pair is upset, Orlesian by the accent, but the other isn't and that's what has Araceli peering around the doorway as far as she dares. Inquisition armour on one shoulder and she grins, swinging back around.

"We've found the way out - one of them is ours, just be polite. That's for all of you." Because Orlesians.