The past is revealing itself to all of them, whether they care to see it or not. John has tried to turn his face from it. So his own past hasn't unearthed itself for the world to see. It is luck alone that's kept him from being one of the many unfortunate subjects providing entertainment for anyone who isn't preoccupied with trying to remedy whatever is causing the disruption.

There are precious few people he cares to involve himself with. The grisly history of the Gallows mixing with the sins and pains of the Inquisition isn't John's affair. Hurrying from one end of the building to the other to better seal himself away doesn't mean he has any cause to stop to assist, and yet—

And yet—

The door is ajar. It's open enough for John to catch the flash of a familiar face, and enough to realize that he's made Six a problem for himself. She tends the books. The men like her, as much as they like anyone from the Inquisition. Obligation dictates a certain amount of effort on his part to either extricate Six or to be sure she's safe in the midst of whatever is happening. John feels the weight of the responsibility very keenly as he nudges the door further open.

"Six."

His voice is pitched low, apprehensive.

"Six?"

The ghosts may play on regardless of what John does. This may be beyond his ability to affect, even with a pinch of salt and iron, the snap of bone between his hands. Even a momentary reprieve won't be so easily bought.