The silence after the outburst had barely settled when something shifted in Flinn's eyes. Just slightly. Reading the room. Reading her.
"Did you..." A swallow. "Did you tell him?"
The sound of water ran steady from behind the washroom door. Unhurried. Oblivious.
"No," said Anthierin.
One word. Flat as a workbench. No explanation attached, no comfort offered — which was its own kind of answer.
Flinn searched her face for something — mercy, amusement, leverage — and found only the particular stillness of someone who had already decided what they thought and was waiting to see if the facts would argue back.
"I've heard the stories," said Anthierin, crossing her arms, "about the Thief job class."
The water kept running.
"High agility. Low morale. High dexterity, low strength." She picked up the hammer from beside her chair and began turning it idly. "Nimble as they need to be. Light where it counts."
