It was easy to know he was caught, that Caleb – even now – knew enough about him that he could figure out Essek’s train of thought. His eyes flickered up to meet his, staring, fighting the urge to just take those trousers off for him. Nothing sexual, no, but just to push back on that little smartass remark.

“Try not to strain yourself as you do then,” he chided back. “I would hate for you to bleed out on the floor without a cleric in a hundred miles.”

He turned his back to the other man, giving him privacy as he removed his own cloak, the mantle, and finally the shirt, folding what he could neatly. His own trousers remained on, as he had no intention of getting in the bath; he simply didn’t want the burden of his clothes getting wet. Essek sighed, listening for Caleb, not thinking about how his eyeless back faced him, or the few new scars that marked his skin were on display.

“Please let me know when I can turn around.”