It's a poorly-kept secret that Wrench is no great fan of the dark. It's not the first time he's found his surroundings plunged into an eerie and perpetual sort of witching hour, but if ever there was a time to take the shelter that's been provided to him, now seems like it. And with John the latest in the string of vanishments that's haunted him for so many months now, maybe the tall man just wants to be in the midst of something familiar.

The warm little hovel at the back of the shop is more than he ever asked for. The mage has done far more than ever was asked of him to make it hospitable. For the number of times he's had to drag Wrench in here by the ear, John's made it a place he might actually like to stay. Except now, when it feels emptier than it ever has. Wrench lays amid a pile of fabric at the back, staring unblinkingly into space. At least until one of the visual wards John's concocted starts to glow. The little candle meant to announce his comings and goings to Wrench by virtue of the color of its flame flickers to life, but laps an odd and warning yellow. Someone else is here.

Barefoot and dressed down, he fishes his boot knife out of the pile of leather and fringe and pads towards the front of the shop.