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"Merlin's most swollen—" Nicodemo muttered groggily, turning over as they talked over him and their voices rose in volume. "You're such a bleedin' whiner."

Honestly, he didn't see what all the fuss was about. Yes, they were trapped in a tomb, which was a less than ideal scenario, but were they being chased by a mob of angry villagers? Was some team of assassins trained in the ancient ways of their people chasing after them? Were they being stalked by a beast who could kill them with fire, or breathe death on them, or flay them alive with their knife-like claws? Had there even been booby-traps they weren't able to disarm in less than thirty seconds? No? Well, then, he was turning over and going back to sleep, thank you very much.

Not that Nicodemo wanted to admit this to anyone, but this sort of thing probably happened to him more than any of the others. It must have been an occupational hazard of the independently contracted and eternally reckless. If they weren't going to suffocate, there had to be a way out of the tomb and (in about ninety percent of cases) it would still be there in the morning. After the excitement of calming Lorenzo down, he was more than ready for a good night's sleep, but then, Nico didn't need much activity or encouragement to sack out. Ever.

In fact, he was almost able to sleep through all this incessant crankiness and bickering, courtesy of his fellow prisoners, but there was this persistent noise echoing in his ears. It was as if the squabbling filled his head with a strange fuzzy noise, like buzzing, or hissing, or—

Half a moment.

He jerked upright and blinked the sleep out of his eyes, gesturing violently for quiet from his colleagues. "Do you hear that?" Nicodemo whispered.