“With another Rifter, during the Satinalia fire.”

Recent, then, in the scheme of things, no undue tension to his knuckles curled to pack tobacco down between layers. He’s intent on his work, the pipe tilted just so.

“His name was Vanadi.”

Later that same evening he’d found Fitcher in a cramped inn in Kirkwall and folded himself up into one of her blankets on the floor.