At the assertion, and the nod at the Hold, Remy just shrugs. It’s probably as good as affirmation, but he’s not about to give out information on himself. “I dunno, homme,” he says, sarcastically. “I didn’t see much gold around.”

Which is true enough. To a boy who’s barely been outside Louisiana for his entire life, the Hold and surrounding city are bleak and uninviting. The Spartan buildings and raggedly-dressed people don’t make it more inviting, though he did stop into one tavern and a women there smiled at him kindly, but oddly. Like she was trying to recognize him, but got confused.

“I don’t think anyone is from here,” he says, trying to sound casual in his knowledge. What he does know, he’s only gleaned from stalking the network. “All… exiles. Or kidnapped.”