Lord El-Melloi II is watching as Lev makes himself known. His fingers hover over the control panels, worried for what might come next. Emergency evacuation. That's all he can think, all his mind mutters over and over again as Lev talks. Keep talking.

Flauros he says, and there is a very loud string of swears.

"Roman, retreat," he spits out, far too tense. "Right fucking now, we're getting you out of there."