While he waited for her (and once the other mortals had finally left), he leant back against the lockers that faced the door, closing his eyes for a moment. He allowed himself this moment of contemplation and peace as he was certain it would be the last he'd get for a long time to come. His shackles clinked softly as he gingerly touched his wrists and hissed under his breath. The skin was raw, bruised and bleeding, but those wounds would heal soon.

Suddenly, he heard movement from outside and he swiftly slipped around the corner, hiding just behind the row of lockers. He listened for approach, listening for the sound of her breath.

And when the moment was right, he rid himself of that cloaking spell and dashed out completely visible. A horrified and exhausted expression was plastered on his face, and he tried to speak. And then he collapsed to the ground as his knees gave out beneath him, but he didn't move after that. To her, he looked almost exactly the way he did the last time they saw each other in New York City, except his superficial wounds he'd sustained in that encounter had long since healed only to be replaced with fresh ones made during his escape.