Tagging along with the Riftwatch group, Astrid has been decidedly unnerved by the everyday undead in Nevarra City, staring goggle-eyed at any harmless skeletal servant as it shambles past, her usual blasé ease rattled. (The dead aren't supposed to still be here.) She’s even more out of her element once these noblemen start getting into it: some complicated baggage to do with politics and family history and ancient feuds, it makes her head spin, she’s barely even aware who King Markus was before this.

But she’s a scout, and she’s used to keeping half an eye out for Lazar looting things, and so she notices Teren’s movement. Quick, deft, while the men aren’t looking. It makes a small laugh bubble up in the back of Astrid’s throat, practically her first since entering the city; she has to muffle it behind a cough and straightening her Riftwatch uniform.

“They’re gonna be pissed,” she whispers once the other woman glances over at her, but there’s some unexpected delight hidden in her voice.