The hall is dark as Gallagher runs his thumb over the metal of his lighter, the "servants" of the now-gone Sunday having left in a flurry of dark feathers. He relishes the silence for a moment, leaning back on the orange plush seats, lounging lazily.

Heeled steps sound out from the stairs, and he raises his head, smirking at the sight of the figure stepping down from the stairs.

"Sure took your time, lovely."