Cahara breathes heavily, attempting to catch his breath after having made a run for it. Hopefully the last person he'd pickpocketed down here in these accursed dungeons wouldn't be finding him anytime soon. They'd rescued him from a cell, and he'd turned around and done what he did best; he'd stolen from and essentially backstabbed them. But really, they should've known better than to trust a mercenary and a thief. They were sure to be enraged should they see his face again. He brushes a hand through his messed-up hair and sighs. And was that a smidgen of guilt he was feeling? No, it couldn't be; why would it be? This was the way the world worked... Or at least that's how he'd grown up; perhaps this place was impacting his mental state already.