"I don't think I need any help walking into walls and doors, thank you," Solomon said deadpan. "If you'd like to parade them in front of me while I relax in a chair, however, I'm quite willing to accept."

That would be preferable, but he suspected it wouldn't be viable. There were too many people who worked at the Sanctuary; he'd have to weed them out one-by-one, and over time. Fortunately, meeting with the senior employees would be expected. They'd probably need to call them in for a meeting fairly early on, actually.

His head already ached. Why did he agree to this, again?

Because if you hadn't you'd probably be dead now.

It was a good reason.

Solomon put out a hand, finding the desk and running his fingers across it to try and find the nearest glass. He found three stacks of paperwork and knocked at least one of them over before then, and so it was with a sigh that he took the whiskey and took a mouthful. "How about the Reveller?" he asked sardonically. "How late did you stay up last night, Ravel?"

He wasn't sure how he knew. He just did. Something about Ravel's soul looked wearier than it had at the meeting the night before. As if his tree had autumn leaves instead of spring.