Unlike her father, little Pendragon knew her uncle wasn't dead. She had way better resources than a mad, violent and barbaric sellsword. And, perhaps, had seen his next move telegraphed by his last sight. After all, governments never lose track of those quintessential to them, do they? She had been laying low around his antique quarters. She knew he'd be her best hint at finding Drake, at finding the bastard who ruined more lives he could be accountable for and, instead of gulping it like a man and moving on, created his own encompassing reality, towering his vision of reality like a wall obstructs your view. Ultimately acquiring her vendetta. That was her goal.
He had vanished without a trace, after all. And going alone after him was too risky. It was easier to send him the message... then cut the problem from its root. The immortality should be a bluff just like everything else. Like his persona and his faux sense of melancholy. Quiescently reclined over some chair, she analyzed the inside of the warehouse cautiously. Kurt, unlike her father, was a man to be impressed by. His struggles, his pain... It was real. Perhaps, that's why he was running, to counter disaster, not hide from it.
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