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Nicodemo had paced the length of his room one hundred and forty six times, and was working on his one hundred and forty seventh lap when someone had the door caught his attention. His teeth immediately clenched, assuming it was the slimy man who had taken them captive in Istanbul, come to issue more vague threats to him. Frowning, he pushed his sleeves up again, biting back a growl at the unfamiliar clothing. Since his robes were torn, dirty, and, yes, just a little bit bloody, they'd been stripped off him, and he'd been provided with suitable garb to wear "in the mean time."

In the mean time.

In the mean time, where it had been subtly suggested he remain in his "quarters" (he used the term dryly, rather than flat out state prison cell) until further advised.

He was under house arrest.

Nicodemo honestly thought he would go insane. The room, luckily, was airy and open, sparsely but well-furnished, and contained several items he ordinarily would have found of interest. Presently, however, he wanted to throw every single one of them against the wall, or out one of the flimsily curtained windows.

When he could bring himself to turn around, just before his visitor had spoken, he saw her face. And allowed himself one fierce moment of relief and gladness that Larkin was unharmed before his scowl deepened further and he crossed his arms. "Do I strangle you before or after you explain everything? I am amenable to either option, ameera."