Joshua stumbles into the Hideaway just as the rain begins to really pour, his cloak soaked through and clinging to him as he makes his way through the hall. The warmth inside is an immediate comfort, and he’s halfway up the stairs in search or Clive when he hears the sharp rhythm of metal clashing somewhere deeper in the hideout. Joshua follows the sound, eyes adjusting just in time to see you training by yourself with slow, deliberate movements in the practice alcove off the main hall.

You don’t stop when you notice him, but you give him a courteous nod in greeting. He freezes, water dripping from the ends of his hair onto the floor. “Forgive me,” he says, gathering enough breath to speak. “I was only,” his eyes drop briefly to the scar along your ribs, the hard muscles of your chest, then back up, “looking for my brother.”