The bang on his window is late in the night. Very late in the night. Probably later then it had to be for it but, well, she had to creep away from most people's sight and that wasn't exactly easy when she had so thoroughly displeased everything that counted as her higher-ups, and then some.

But if she sailed under Vane, stood to reason that - eventually, she sailed under Flint too, the two were close at least in legend, if not in practicality. But better to place two bets down in the race, and this was all a gamble. She was not going into the chantry circles, no matter what they told her. She could not think of anything more idiotic for her, even if they didn't want to accept it right now.

Nor would she ever accept it. Not for what they were selling it as. Too similar. Too similar to having her legs shot out from underneath her and being told she was being done a favour.

Meant, now that it was truly unavoidable a notion - she was stuck here - she had to start to make these plans. One day, one day, one day. It sits flat to the roof of her mouth as she stays crouched in the half dark of the back balcony of the Walrus. Didn't know his men like she knew Vane's to just go traipsing through and she didn't want to cause more of a fuss then she had to with his crew. A familiar bent to this that she hadn't had seen arriving, half bent in the dark, watching the slide of shapes, making plans.