Feeling hot (wonder why?) but powered more by adrenaline than flame, Arven clipped the case shut and straightened up to find his shirt. There he saw a young woman lounging against a streetlamp, tone and posture suggesting she had caught him out on something. Perhaps she knew his family, aware that this was not a fitting recreation for a Fisk.

Arven retrieved his jumper, a black and rather threadbare thing, and pulled it on. ”Thank you”, he responded, regarding the stranger curiously. Was this the shadow who’d been flitting in and out of the crowd? Arven was a traveller, mixing with all sorts of people, within cities and without. He knew a pickpocket when he saw one.

”What brings you to Covent Garden tonight?” he asked conversationally, mentally confirming the exact location of his sparse valuables.