He at least gets the time to eat in silence. A few minutes more, perhaps.

But he cannot stay away. They have so little time left.

When he returns, the robes are gone. He stands in a simple white shirt, and black trousers, black riding boots that are shined to a glass finish. He carries a pair of black leather gloves, and leans against the door frame.

'Disappointed that he didn't tell you how to kill me?'

The lilt of his voice is somewhere between playful and predatory, though his expression is something more complex.